


All We Hear is Radio Gaga

by mr_mustache_penis



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Disaster Richie Tozier, Everyone is From Different Places Because I Said So, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gay Disaster Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Radio Show AU babey, Reddie is the Main Ship but Benverly Isn't Together at First, Richie is From Ohio Because I'm Projecting Okay?, Slow Burn, Stan is Very Alive and Very Much Tired of Richie and His BS, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_mustache_penis/pseuds/mr_mustache_penis
Summary: Richie Tozier had a simple college life, until one last minute class credit put him nose to nose with nursing student Eddie Kaspbrak, when they have to share a late night campus radio show slot for the semester.Fortunately for Richie, his talking talent makes everything go smooth.Almost... too smooth.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 79
Kudos: 172





	1. Video Killed the Radio Star

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in the IT fandom, please be gentle lol.
> 
> I got inspired after reading a few Radio AUs, so I thought it would be fun to put my own spin on it.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! :)

Richie, despite popular belief, was not a night person.

He liked his sleep, dammit.

But when he decided to pick his extra credit for his Electric Media Class at the very last minute, he got the shitty night time slot at the campus radio station. So Richie had to become a night person. To his utmost delight.

At least he wasn’t the only sorry bastard here until two in the morning. There was another guy here in the dim white hallway, dressed in comfortable red shorts, a pale yellow t-shirt, and gray hoodie. Not the weirdest ensemble he had seen. Speaking of, Richie was a third year student and never remembered seeing this guy around his classes. The thought struck him that maybe he was in a different major than Richie, since people in certain majors never crossed paths until graduation, but then why the hell would he pick this shit show job?

He found his eyes traveling over the guy’s neatly styled brown hair that fit well against his face, which was nicely tanned, along with the rest of him. If he wasn’t on the shorter side, Richie would have guessed that he was some sort of athlete. Not that height was really mattered if you were like a swimmer or something, he thought, looking at his well defined calves. There was a lot of calf there.

It wasn’t like Richie was never mistaken for a basketball player with his height, but a college of diet of Dr. Pepper and Cheez-Its was definitely ruined his chances of joining the team.

It felt weird just looking at this dude when they hadn’t even been introduced, so Richie tried to shift his focus back to the mousey guy that was explaining the rules of the station. His name was Jerry something.

“So when it hits two in the morning, you let the last song play out, and then one of you signs off. There’s an automatic playlist set to play once you power down the mic. You each get a key, and when you lock up make sure that you guys kept it clean. No one wants to find trash in the morning.” He gave Richie a distasteful glance, as if he was made of the trash he was warning about.

 _Rat faced asshole_.

“If you lose your key, you’ll have to pay for a replacement before the semester is over or you won’t get class credit or letter of completion.” _Letter of completion huh?_ “You guys do get paid, paychecks come every two weeks on Friday, and you’ll get paper checks for the first month. Got that?” He eyed Richie again and the taller boy felt himself crack a smile. “Good. You guys get to fight over who talks and who controls the music.”

“I’m sorry, we have to talk?” The guy in the shorts finally piped up.

Jerry, the rat, narrowed his eyes at him. “Yes. This is a radio show. Someone talks to the listeners and takes requests over the phone.” He talked in a slow, condescending tone, and Richie could see the other boy getting embarrassed. “You’re from the resume building program right?”

He nodded, more red than tan now.

“Did you realize what what you were signing up for or did you just not care?”

What a grade A prick.

Richie lunged forward from his place on the wall to stand next to the shorter boy, putting an arm around him, for… protection? Comfort?

“He’s kidding man,” he said, managing a fake laugh. “We already agreed that I would be doing all the talking remember? It’s a gift after all. My teacher told me you’re good at the music software so by all means, it’s yours.”

The shorter boy’s shoulders relaxed under Richie’s arm, and he knew he said the right thing.

Jerry glanced between them, obviously not amused but not invested enough to really care.

“Whatever,” he said, pulling out two keys and thrusting them at the two boys. “Just keep it clean, no swearing, and _no smoking_. There’s cameras so don’t even try it.” He gave Richie one last scathing look, almost daring him to challenge him.

“You got a predisposition about me, man? Is it the Hawaiian shirt?” Richie held out the colorful fabric and looked over it. “A Hawaiian shirt does not a stoner make, man.” He crooned in a raspy, deeper voice, sounding like Tommy Chong. It was a pretty dead on impression, and it earned him a chuckle from the boy he still didn’t know the name of.

Rat Boy ignored him, flashing someone on the inside of the studio a thumbs up. The door turned and a girl with purple hair peeked out. Richie recognized her from one of his classes. Cute girl, really nice. Ninety percent sure she was gay, though. Like, lesbian gay.

“Come on guys, I’ll show you everything before I leave.” She ushered them inside, flicking up the dimmer switch so the small space was better illuminated. It looked just the way Richie imagined: old, outdated, small, and dusty.

The computer that held all the music sat on the desk next to a microphone that was made before he was, which was an interesting mix of technology, since the computer was probably like ten years old. There were two swivel chairs with nice cushioning that looked almost comfortable enough to sit for four hours without Richie’s bony butt getting sore. There was a door behind them that turned out to be a bathroom, which seemed like the smartest thing about this space.

“So the red button on the front is what you press when you wanna talk, and it does hold down so be careful and remember to press it twice before you decide to have a private conversation. The phone is here,” she said, pointing to an equally ancient phone. It was a tan brick of a thing. “And all phone calls get aired automatically when the music ends. If you get a heckler just put them on hold.” She demonstrated by pressing one of the buttons, and then pressed the bigger button at the bottom of the number pad. “And this is the speaker so that you don’t have to hold the actual phone. Helps when there’s multiple callers.”

Richie had no doubt that their phone line would be mostly dead but he nodded along in understanding anyway.

“I mean that’s pretty much it. The music system is pretty organized, you can search alphabetically for titles, or albums, or you can go by year of release. There’s so much music but if you can’t find something you want no one will snitch if you use Youtube or Spotify. You guys got this right?”

Suddenly it was Time. Holy shit.

“Pffftt, yeah, of course we do.”

Richie’s other talent was being able to lie out of his ass, but it didn’t look as good on a job application.

The other guy nodded, and the purple haired girl smiled.

“Alright, I’m gonna sign off and play my last song so that you guys can get yourselves settled. Have fun, guys.” She pulled the mic over to the edge of the desk, while Richie and the shorter boy scrambled into their chairs.

“Alright guys, that was Mariana’s Trench rounding out my night. We’ve got newbies in the station tonight taking over the late night slot so be kind and send them love. I’ll be ending the night with a little Say Anything, to smooth out any troubles you may have. This is your girl Rigby signing off.” She pressed her button twice, and gave the boys a thumbs up. “It’s your show now fellas,” she told them, clicking play on her last song, and waving goodbye as she left, leaving them to their own devices. Literally.

Richie let out a low whistle. “Well, fuck.”

“What a fucking _asshole_.”

The guy in the shorts stared hard at the computer screen, looking at it like he was ready to put a hole through it.

“Geez, get to know me first, man.” Richie tried to ease whatever this guy was feeling with a cheap laugh. That seemed to snap him out of it, because he looked over at Richie with big, apologetic doe brown eyes.

“God, I’m sorry, not you. That weasel dude that is somehow in charge of this fucking department.”

“Okay, so I’m _not_ the only one that thought he looked like a rodent. Good, because I was starting to feel like a little bit of an asshole,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair. He became fully aware that the song was just about halfway over, and he still didn’t know this poor guy’s name. “I’m Richie. Richie Tozier.” He offered his hand to shake, which seemed weirdly formal for the circumstances.

The other boy took it anyway. “Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak.”

A genuine smile made its way over the taller boy’s face. “Eddie huh? Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie was just spouting shit, like he normally did.

“God, that’s a new one,” groaned Eddie, but not in an angry way. The song was almost over, and Eddie had finally noticed. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

Of course Richie wanted to say no. This was all very new to him. But if there was anything that he knew how to do, it was talk.

“Pull up _Video Killed the Radio Star_ and have it ready to play. How many seconds do I have?”

“Fifteen.”

Oh yeah. They had this in the bag.

“Give me a silent countdown when we hit five seconds,” he told him, pulling the mic closer to him, finger resting over the red button. Eddie nodded. He held up his hand, all five fingers up.

Five, four, three, two…

Richie pressed the button, giving a second before speaking calmly into the mic.

“Hello night owls of North Derry University. My name is Trashmouth, and I’m your new host for the late night hours.” Eddie arched a thick brow at him. “I’m here with my compadre Eddie Spaghetti, who will be laying down all the sick tracks tonight, so I encourage you to call in with any requests you may have. Tonight’s theme is eighties hits, and we’re gonna start off the night strong with a bit of irony with _Video Killed the Radio Star_. Thanks for tuning in.” Richie gave Eddie the thumbs up to play the song, and double pressed his microphone button so that they could talk again.

“Wow, dude, that was amazing.”

That wasn’t normally a word used to describe Richard Tozier’s mouth diarrhea, but he would take it.

“Thanks dude.” The tenseness in his chest eased, killing the nerves. "Would you want to pick the next song?"

Eddie looked back at the computer and his shoulders deflated. "I wouldn't even know where to start. I mean it's easy to figure out but do we wanna go by year or popularity?" He faced Richie again. "Picking a theme was smart."

"You can't go wrong with eighties music," he agreed, ignoring the heat in his face. "Why don't we start with 1981 and work our way through the years?"

Eddie seemed to enjoy that suggestion, because he got to work finding songs released in 1981, picking one out to queue up next.

This didn't seem so bad.

"So, tell me about yourself, Spaghetti."

Eddie chuckled. "What do you wanna know?"

Suddenly, Richie didn't know what a question was.

"Uh, well. What kind of shitty luck do you have to be stuck here with me?" he asked.

The shorter boy seemed surprised by the phrasing of his question, as if Richie really thought he was the worst part of this experience. (Depending on who you asked, they would agree with him).

"I went to my counselor to see if I could get into some extra circulars to make me seem more interesting on my resume. He put me in this resume building program and I just got in at the last minute. It was this, or picking up trash around campus."

"Not much of an environmentalist, are ya, Spaghetti?” Richie didn’t blame him, picking up trash sucked.

“Have you _seen_ the people on this campus? I barely want to be around them, much less their trash. Too many germs.” Eddie winced.

“That’s fair. What’s your major?”

Now Eddie looked embarrassed again. “Nursing.”

Richie turned dramatically in his chair like James Bond villain. “Dude, what the fuck there are like, a million more germs in a hospital!”

Eddie sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s just different. I can’t explain why.”

Finding himself searching Eddie’s eyes for more, he found himself disappointed that there was nothing telling in his gaze. “Alright, that’s double fair.”

There was a bit of tension now, hanging like an ugly painting in your childhood home, unsure why it was even kept around.

The smaller boy was working on queuing up more songs to fill the silence between Richie’s spoken parts, though he really didn’t know how long those should be. Fifteen, twenty… Thirty minutes?

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

The painting had fallen.

“What’s your major, Richie?”

“Oh. Communications.” Why was it so hard to speak?

“Are you a third year student too?” Eddie wondered.

“Yeah. Feels so close, and yet so far,” admitted Richie. He never thought much of college in high school despite his A average, but being there was a whole new experience. He was glad to have it.

“I _know_ right? I just want it to end.”

“Not a big fan of college?” Some people did it to get by. It was pretty understandable.

“Not… I mean, like I love the campus and everything, but I’m just ready to start my life. Get a job and stuff.”

Richie chuckled. “Be a real adult?”

“ _Yes_. Exactly.” Eddie seemed more bright and confident now, which gave Richie the sneaking impression that this guy didn’t share much.

“Not in those shorts you’re not.”

“Wow, fuck you okay? These are comfortable.”

Oh, they were going to get along just fine.

The night came to an end pretty quickly for the two of them, and after two prank phone calls and three requests for Rick Astley, it was time for Richie to sign off.

“Alright night owls, it’s time for Trashmouth and Eddie Spaghetti to hit the hay so we can sleep through our morning classes.” Eddie glared at him. “Kidding, don’t skip class kids. But is time for our night to end, so I wish you all a good night. We’ll pick up tomorrow with more throwback hits. Trashmouth signing off. Peace.”

Richie turned off the mic, leaned back, and sighed. “I think that went well, don’t you?”

Eddie sat back in equal apprehension. “You make that look so easy.”

“It’s just talking. Never been that hard for me.” Richie wasn’t the best at taking compliments, but he knew a genuine one when he heard it. “We better lock up, huh?”

Eddie nodded, and both managed to stand. Sitting for four hours straight was no joke.

They turned off the lights and Eddie pulled out his key to lock the door behind them. It was weird walking into completely bright hallway again.

“You gonna be alright getting back home?” Richie asked his compatriot.

“Yeah, I live across the street at the student apartments. I’ll be okay.”

“Okay good. I live in the dorms so at least we’re both close.”

Eddie seemed lost in thought until he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it quickly and brought up the new contact screen, holding it out to Richie, who took it gently, like it was a newborn baby.

“Put your number in there. We should probably keep in contact just in case something happens to one of us and we can’t make it here or we lost one of the keys or something.”

Richie cocked his head, unintentionally staring hard at the screen. He couldn’t remember the last time he gave someone new his number.

The messy haired boy snapped out of his gaze and typed out his number and his now radio moniker _Trashmouth_. He gave it back so that Eddie could look it over and save it.

“You really want to go by Trashmouth, huh?” Richie shrugged. “Is there a story behind that one?”

“There is,” he said, smiling. “For another night. Can’t give away all my material.”

Eddie scoffed, but saved his number anyway. “Guess we should get going.”

They were going opposite ways, so they wouldn’t get the chance to walk together. Richie really hoped that he would be safe.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Trashmouth.”

  
  


Walking through the dorm halls at two-thirty in the morning felt weirdly like walking through a cemetery, even though he was sure that somewhere someone was losing ample amount of brain cells.

At least his floor was quiet. He hoped that his friend and roommate Stan would be heavily asleep so that he could sneak in. Stan was as much of a grump as Richie when he didn’t get his sleep, especially now that he had an eight AM class.

He pulled out his keys from his pocket, careful not to jingle them too loudly. He slowly unlocked his door and opened it carefully, making small steps inside. The door shut quietly behind him and he crept towards his side of the room, being as silent as he could while he pried off his shoes and threw off his button down shirt. Richie was a simple man, and he _simply_ didn’t need pants to sleep in, so he took off his jeans and crawled into bed. Triple checking his alarms, he finally plugged his phone into the charger snaked on to his sheets and snuggled into the covers.

“Stan?” he whispered. “You awake?”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t be up waiting for you on your first night,” a sarcastic whisper replied from the bed across the room.

Richie laughed softly. “Of course you would, Staniel.”

Stan also laughed, “So, how was it?”

“Fun. You should get a radio and listen. I think we’re pretty good.”

“And not get a break from you? I don’t think so.” Stan processed what Richie said a second late. "Wait, who's _we?_ "

“Oh, um. There’s another guy there with me. He controls the music, and I do all the talking business.”

“Naturally. Do I know him?”

“No, he’s a nursing student. His name is Eddie.”

“Hmmm, okay. Interesting. Got the short stick then?”

“Something like that. Resume program.”

“Ah, okay. Fuck those.”

“Agreed.” Not really. He didn’t mind meeting Eddie tonight.

“Well, I’m glad it went okay.”

Smiling was starting to become a habit. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem. Get some sleep so we don’t kill each other.”

They had come pretty close before, but something told Richie that they would be okay.

“Yeah, I will.” There was a flash of light on Richie’s bed sheet, his phone lit up with a new notification from an unknown number.

**New Number:** _Hey it’s Eddie I made it back. Are you okay?_

Richie felt a silent relief settle in his stomach.

**Me:** _yes i am. made it to the dorm ok. thnx for letting me know ur ok._

Richie quickly saved the number under _Eddie Spaghetti_. It was only right.

**Eddie Spaghetti:** _No problem, Richie :)_

  
  


For the first time in a while, Richie drifted off with complete ease.


	2. Leave 'Em Hanging on the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Richie and Eddie's second night in the studio, and everything seems to be going well.
> 
> Until Richie opens his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Thanks for the positive response to the first chapter! This story is off to a slow start and characters still need to be introduced, but I promise things will start to pick up after this. I'm still very new to writing these characters and I want to give them the best treatment possible.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

A morning ritual was something that was sacred to most people.

Not Richie.

He wouldn’t even call it a ritual. It was barely a routine. As long as his ass was washed and his teeth were brushed he could call it a successful morning.

Stan was already gone by the time he woke up, so Richie was able to put on some jams to help him make it through the day. Good music was like a cup of coffee: some people couldn’t live without it.

Everyone’s definition of “good music” was different, but the twenty year old could confidently say his taste in music was above average. He could acknowledge when something slapped, as the kids said, not caring to fit in with other people’s standards of what defined good music. Silly songs, country songs, electric beats, anything that made his body move and his smile spread like jelly on toast was great music. Of course, he had his favorites, like his eighties playlist.

Which was why he was bopping around in the shower to Hall and Oates.

“ _Ooh, oh oh oh, you make my dreaaaaams-_ ” he sang, at a volume that would usually get him yelled at by Stan or his parents, respectively. He decided to wash his hair after deciding that last night it was probably a greasy mess and that’s why Jerry the Rat judged him to be a stoner. Because all stoners had bad hygiene skills, right?

Weed wasn’t really Richie’s thing either. Too much money, and all it did was make him hungry and blurry-eyed. But it seemed like most people had that assumption that the funny guy with bad fashion sense _had_ to be smoking something, so he just rolled with it, not really having the energy to care.

Richie finished his shower just as a Billy Ocean song started. _Caribbean Queen_ was one of his favorites, solely for the way Mr. Ocean pronounced “Caribbean” in some weird, third way that only he could get away with.

Richie pulled up his pants after drying off and putting his glasses, then underwear on, remaining shirtless while he got ready to brush his teeth. The music faded slightly, returning back to normal after a couple seconds. He had a text.

He turned his phone over on the bathroom sink, and read the text mid scrub.

**Bevvy Dearest:** _You up yet? Call me_

Beverly Marsh was Richie’s second best friend, after Stan. They had an English class together their first year at North Derry University, where at one point they were doing a segment of Shakespeare, and during their reading of _Romeo and Juliet_ , he licked the side of her face instead of kissing her. They were friends ever since.

He was very open with her over his attraction to boys, something that he never really had someone to talk to about before. Sure, he had Stan, who was as accepting as the day was long, but he didn’t _get it_. They could bond over girls, sure, and that was fun.

But man… _boys_ …

He wondered then if he should mention Eddie to her right away.

**Me:** _sure. give me a sec_

He spit loudly into the sink and wiped his mouth on the green towel, simultaneously reaching out to shut off his Bluetooth speaker. He picked up his phone and dialed her number, waltzing back over to his side of the room to find a shirt. The dorm filled with the sound of the line ringing, since he put it on normal speaker to be hands free. There was a click, followed by a low woman’s voice.

“Hello? Rich?”

“Hey Bev. What’s up?”

“I heard you last night,” she said ominously.

“Snoring?” he asked. “Bev, were you outside our window again? I told you, someone will think you’re my paranormal lover.”

Beverly made an exasperated noise, and Richie knew that if she was there in person, his arm would have been smacked. They were on the fifth floor, and none of the dorms had balconies.

“No, asshole, I _meant_ , I heard you on the radio!” She seemed actually excited, so Richie cut the act.

“Yep, first big night. Didn’t go as bad as I thought,” he admitted, finally pulling a normal blue t-shirt out of his drawer and throwing it on, managing not to snag his glasses.

“I think you did great. So,” she paused, and Richie knew she was trying to create dramatic effect.

Ah, actors.

“Who’s this mysterious Eddie Spaghetti you’re working with?”

Shit, she beat him to it.

“Oh, he’s just a nursing student that got the short end of a resume building program. Kinda shy. I’m letting him do music.”

“Mister Big Dick Tozier is letting someone else control the music? I gotta call the pope, the world is ending.”

Beverly was also the only other person that could match his sarcasm. She regularly beat out Stan as the sass master.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m not that bad.” Yes he was.

“Fine, I guess I won’t buy this coffee for you before class.” That was a powerful threat.

“Nope, _no_ I have a two hour lecture today.” A threat that worked. “I am getting some fucking coffee.”

“Alright, get your ass down here. I’m at King’s.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Byeeeee.”

Her laugh echoed over the line.

“Bye Richie.”

  
  


King’s was the local coffee join across from campus, a hole in the wall that most people passed over in favor of Dunkin or Starbucks, but it was Richie’s favorite spot. He would inject their espresso directly into his veins if he could do so without killing himself.

His fiery red headed friend stood outside with his usual order in hand, as well as her own. God bless Beverly Marsh.

“Bev, you absolute saint. I could dog lick your face again.”

She grinned, a beautiful smile of straight white teeth. “Tempting, but no thanks. I’d rather hear about your night with Mr. Spaghetti.”

Not surprising.

“It was fine. We held it together.”

“What time did you guys leave? I only stayed up ‘til midnight to hear you.”

Richie thought back to their exchange in the stark hallway. “Two fifteen, probably? I got into the dorm by two thirty.”

“Jesus. No wonder you wanted coffee.”

He didn’t tell her that he had the best night of sleep in a while despite getting in so late, but it wasn’t really need to know information.

“Yeah, and I gotta do it again, and again… you get the picture,” he said with a flick of his wrist.

Beverly looked at him like he said he was joining a Mormon priesthood. “No nights off?”

“Monday through Friday, with an earlier time slot on Saturdays, because they actually acknowledged that we have lives. Oh, and whatever days off we have for the holidays. The station is off on Sundays, too. It shouldn’t be too bad, I don’t have any crazy early classes like Stan the Man.”

Bev pouted in sympathy. “Ouch, poor Stan.”

Richie nodded. “He says it will all be worth it when he gets into all the charity work he wants to do.” Stan was an accounting major, something he decided early on in life when he realized that there were way too many corrupt charity organizations out there, including the one his aunt tried to get help from when she had breast cancer. He wanted to dismantle all of them one by one.

Thrusting her coffee into the air, Bev shouted: “For Stan, the humanitarian!”

Richie did the same. “For Stan!” They clinked cups and took burning hot sips, nearly singing their tongues.

“Ow, fuck you Stan!” Richie yelled. He stuck out his tongue in a useless attempt to cool it off.

“Not our smartest moment,” agreed Bev. It seemed like Stan had the braincell today.

Nothing new honestly.

They made it to the front of the campus arts building, where they would soon have to diverge.

Richie grabbed the large glass door and held it open. “After you, madam,” he said with a posh British accent.

She curtsied before sauntering in, and he followed behind. She was getting ready to take the elevator to her first class, so he stopped there with her.

“You wanna grab lunch later? I can see if Stan could fit it in between classes.”

A hard frown passed her lips. “Sorry, I have auditions.”

Richie’s eyes widened in fear. “Already? What the fuck it’s only like the second week!”

“The drama department is no joke,” she told him, offering an apologetic smile. “I’ll text you though. Tell Stan I said hi.”

“I will.” Richie watched her get into the elevator and waved as the door shut between them.

Now what to do?

  
  


**Me:** _hey stan u want to get lunch_

Richie held his phone expectantly. Stan was pretty good at answering even when he was in class. It wouldn’t take him that long to answer.

 _Bzzzzz_.

**Stan the Man** : _Can’t Today, Sorry._

Motherfucker.  
  


**Me:** _boo u whore_

 **Stan the Man:** _You Couldn’t Afford Me :)_

He was right. As usual.

**Me:** _sit on a cactus. i’ll see u at home_

A deep sigh left Richie’s lips. He was going to be _so_ bored today.

  
  


The last class of Richie’s day ended at six, which gave him a chance to go home and take a nap before the radio show. Walking from campus was always a great way to do some people watching. Richie’s eyes wandered far too often not to notice the usual people that passed, the new meat, the lost and wandering.

Plenty of people wandered, not really knowing where to go or how to spend their day. Had Richie not made up his mind to take his nap, he would be wandering right along with them, trying to find some worth to his day.

He was consciously aware of how many smells could possibly assault his nose as he walked the length of campus. The grass was a refreshing cut through the wafting scents of fast food, arms lathered in lotions and perfumes, and the guys still learning what a proper shower was in adulthood.

Sometimes his senses overwhelmed him, but he took it in stride, knowing that he had control over at least one of them.

The ample chatter and noise of the street next to him wasn’t too bad today, and the walk was short enough that he didn’t feel the need to tune it all out. Once he reached the dorms he took the elevator to his floor, his shoulders sagging the closer he got to his door. How he was actually tired at what was supposed to be dinner time he didn’t even know.

Maybe it was boredom.

Richie trudged inside. He was aware that Stan wasn’t going to be back until after he was passed out, so he avoided making any food for himself. He crawled into bed, turning on his alarms. Nine would give him plenty of time, right?

For the first time today Eddie fully crossed his mind. He wondered what the smaller boy was doing before their time at the station. Did he have class? Or residency?

Why didn’t ask _him_ to grab lunch?

There were plenty of answers to that question, starting with _duh_ , he didn’t even really know the guy.

Richie dismissed his thoughts, falling into the mattress. He could think later.

  
  


_Gonna take a lot to drag me awaaaaaaay from youuuuu…_

“Man I fucking hate that song.”

_There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do...._

“Richie, wake the fuck up.”

_I BLESS THE RAINS DOWN IN AFRICA-_

“RICHARD TOZIER!”

Richie stirred from his nap, only becoming slightly aware of the noise around him.

“Richie if you don’t turn off your alarm I swear on everything,” threatened Stan, as he sat straight up in his bed, reading time being interrupted.

“M’kay, I got it,” Richie mumbled, managing to shut it off. He didn’t understand Stan’s gripe with _Africa_ by Toto.

It was a great song.

“ _Thank_ you.” Stan went back to reading his book, unbothered.

“No problem, my good man.” Richie swung his legs over his bed and stretched. “Fuck, I gotta leave soon.”

Stan glanced over at his tall friend. “I didn’t think you were gonna make it out of bed.”

Richie gave him the finger, a staple gesture in their relationship. “Gee, thanks.”

Stan blew him a kiss. Bastard.

It took Richie a minute to stand. Getting old sucked.

“Did you eat?” he asked Stan, hoping he would say no.

“Yeah, I grabbed something on the way in, sorry. Were you waiting for me?”

“Kinda.” Richie reached for his phone and noticed a new message. From Eddie.

**Eddie Spaghetti:** _Hey, I know this is random but are you allergic to anything?_

Richie didn’t think that “biphobes” was an appropriate answer.

**Me:** _not that i know of….?_

It didn’t take long for an answer.

**Eddie Spaghetti:** _Okay, good. I have snacks._

What an angel.

“Do you have time to make something?” Stan asked, seemingly concerned.

“No, I’ll be okay,” he told him, not bothering to hide the growing smile on his face.

“Alright, weirdo. Don’t be late.”

Richie wouldn’t dream of it.

  
  


The walk to the station wasn’t that long, once he was in the right building on campus. He just had a feeling that Jerry guy would take anything he could and hold it against him, so being late was not on the agenda.

Besides, what was a little more time with Eddie?

Speak of the devil, Jerry stood at the door with his arms crossed, his mouth settling in to a line of disappointment. What was with this guy?

“You’re early.”

“Yeah, well. Pardon my excitement.” Part of him wished that Eddie would have already been here. “What exactly do you do here?”

Jerry raised his blonde eyebrows at him. “I’m the student station manager.”

_That tells me fucking everything._

“Oh, cool.” Richie wondered if he would actually have to manage a conversation with this wet towel of a dude when the sound of footsteps approaching cut him out of his hamster wheel.

“Am I late?” Eddie asked, panting slightly. He was dressed in blue shorts this time, and a white shirt. Same gray hoodie. And was that… a _fanny pack_?

Jerry gave him a nice little once over. “Nope. I’m surprised you didn’t beat this one here,” he told him, pointing a thumb at Richie.

The taller boy opened his mouth to protest, but was surprisingly interrupted.

“Don’t you have a pillow to stick your dick in?” Eddie questioned, a wild grin taking up his tan face.

_Holy shit._

Richie stared at the smaller boy with a mix of admiration and sudden fear. What else was he hiding behind the shorts and fanny pack?

Jerry sputtered, unable to respond. It was strongly effective.

Eddie finally turned to his co-host, bright and cheerful. “Hi Richie.”

“Hey Spaghetti.”

Jerry turned and stormed away, obviously not welcomed. Good riddance.

“Sorry about my last minute text.”

“It’s okay. You’re doing me such a favor. I didn’t eat dinner,” admitted Richie.

The boy’s large brown eyes only grew. “Dude, you shouldn’t skip meals that’s so bad for you!”

The taller boy rolled his own dark blue eyes out of habit. “I didn’t do it on purpose! I took a nap and waited for my roommate so we could split something but he ate without me.” That whole sentence sounded like a toddler's tantrum, but Richie stood by it.

“Good thing I’m here then, huh?” Eddie unzipped his fanny pack and pulled out two Cliff bars. “Pick one.”

Richie chose the white chocolate macadamia, leaving Eddie with the fruity oatmeal one, which he didn’t seem to mind.

“I buy these in bulk and they’re a lifesaver when you don’t have time for meals,” informed Eddie to Richie, who listened with great interest. “Something is better than nothing.”

“I suppose so,” Richie replied. He tore open the wrapper with his teeth, eager to have anything in his stomach. The first bite was so satisfying he could have jizzed in his pants.

Eddie watched him shyly, putting his own Cliff bar back into his pack. “I also brought water.” He pointed to the drawstring bag on his back. “I mean, you definitely need it more than me, since you’ll be talking a-and stuff.”

Beverly wasn’t the only saint in his presence today, apparently.

“Are you always this prepared or was this just for me?” Richie asked innocently. Not so innocently. Not innocently at all.

“I- uh-”

Eddie was interrupted by the door opening and Rigby poking her violet head out. “You guys ready?”

Richie gave her a thumbs up and she grinned. She retreated back inside, and left the boys to their conversation.

“What were we talking about?”

“We.. I- um-” Eddie was interrupted again by Rigby ushering them inside. The shorter boy followed behind Richie, thankful for the conversation to be over.

“You guys did great last night. Loved the theme, started out strong. Y’all are naturals,” said Rigby.

“Thanks, Rig,” Richie replied.

She gave both of them a celebratory clap on the back. “Keep up the good work. The night is yours.” 

Eddie blinked. “Wait, you’re leaving already?”

“Oh yeah, I signed off already. You guys have like thirty seconds. Buh-byeee.”

The boys watched the purple haired lesbian scurry out the room like shy lizard. Reality set in and they both rushed to their seats.

“Jesus Christ, she could have given us more time,” groaned Eddie, looking over the computer screen. “I don’t even know what to play.”

The bulb over Richie’s head lit, bright and devious.

“Scooch over.” Richie waved Eddie away from the music, and to his surprise he actually wheeled back. After typing a few choice key words, the taller boy moved back to his own spot. Eddie squinted at the screen, reading Richie’s choice carefully.

_“ Really? ”_

“Yes, really. I was… _inspired_.” The song faded out and Richie pressed his mic button. “Hello again, night owls. This is Trashmouth and Eddie Spaghetti, coming to you live from our hole in the wall to bring you more of the music you can’t get enough of. As promised, we’ll be continuing our playlist of eighties hits, starting with a crowd favorite, and if it’s not your favorite, you’d be lying to yourself. Requests are encouraged so call in at any time. I’ll be back after a few of tonight’s hits.”

Richie gave Eddie a thumbs up, and the room filled with steady drum beat, followed by familiar piano chords and xylophone.

_I hear the drums echoing tonight…_

_But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation…_

“Out of all the songs we could have started out with, you picked _that_ one,” said Eddie with disappointment, shaking his head.

“There is nothing wrong with _Africa_ by Toto, you heathen,” Richie glared. “You sound like my roommate Stan.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Normally, no. The guy’s my best friend. But there are few hills I choose to die on, and one of them just happens to be that _Africa_ slaps.” He crossed his arms like that was a satisfying end to the argument.

“It’s not a _horrible_ song,” admitted Eddie with a shrug. “Just over played and over hyped.”

Richie stared at the other boy in abject disgust. “And to think we were just starting to get along, Eds.”

Eddie’s head spun faster than a broken record player hooked up to a car engine. “ _Don’t_ call me Eds.” His voice was low and serious, and Richie suddenly felt an emotion he never really felt often: guilt.

“I’m... _sorry_?” It was more of a question than an actual statement of apology.

“I just. Don’t like that nickname.”

An apprehensive gaze fell over Eddie. There were few things that kept the foul mouthed boy from taking a joke farther, but something in Eddie’s voice told him that if he tried, he would regret it. Deeply.

“That’s fine, Eddie. You don’t have to explain anything to me.” Richie’s voice was warm, and soft. Chocolate chip cookies in place of what was usually salt and vinegar chips.

“Thanks Richie,” a softer Eddie replied.

“I won’t use it again. Spaghetti is still okay, right?”

A laugh escaped him. “Yeah, I can deal with that.”

“You better, I can't come up with anything more clever if I tried.” That wasn't exactly true, because Richie was known for his on the fly nicknames. But the one he gave Eddie already seemed perfect.

"Pffft, okay, Rich."

What did mean when your stomach flipped more times than Simone Biles, Richie wondered, while hearing Eddie call him "Rich?"

Like he was going to have time to figure it out.

At least he could still give Eddie his signature grin. That seemed like enough.

  
  


The phone rang not long after their first set of music, drawing them out of their focus on nothing.

Richie spoke into the mic. "Looks like we have our earliest caller yet," he said, pressing down the speaker button. "Caller, you're on with Trashmouth."

"I hate you Richie," a voice he knew well echoed through the studio.

"Stan! Hey buddy!" Richie's glasses slid down his face while he sat up with excitement. "I knew you would listen to my little show. You're so supportive."

Eddie tried to hide his amused snort behind his hand, but Richie already glanced over at him with raised eyebrows. Not eyebrows of concern, but of shared amusement.

"Bite me, Tozier," an exasperated Stan ordered. There was another sound, like someone struggling to get a hold of the phone.

"It was my idea!" A proud voice revealed, and Richie was like the Pillsbury Dough Boy: soft.

"Bev, I _knew_ you had a hand in this. Thanks for getting Staniel out of his crypt."

"No problem, Richie. Friends support each other. _Right_ , Stan?" There was a mumble, then a sound of smacked flesh, followed by a loud " _OWWW!_ "

"Right," a begrudging Stan agreed.

Richie was suddenly aware that Eddie was watching him curiously, his brown eyes traveling between the phone and Richie's own lips. Was this unprofessional? Or did Eddie find it hard to believe that the talkative boy had good friends?

"Well, I can't have you two holding up the line. We're a place of professional business, after all." Richie could hear Stan's bark of laughter. "Any requests before you go?"

"Oooh, _Gloria_ by Laura Branigan," Beverly suggested, without protest from Stan.

"You got it, Dollface." He gestured to Eddie, but he was already on it. "Don't party too hard, guys."

Both of them laughed. "Bye Richieeee."

The call ended and Eddie pressed play. The funky, shoulder shrugging beat filled the studio, and Richie silently complimented Bev's taste.

"Were those your friends?" Eddie asked, queuing up more music, turning the internal stereo down slightly.

"No, I just met them this morning," the other boy quipped out of habit. Based on the frown on Eddie's face he could assume that the shorter boy was trying to strike up a real conversation. That weird feeling of guilt was back. "Yeah, they're my best friends."

"The guy was your roommate Stan, right?"

"Stan the Man, Staniel, Stanley not Tucci. That's him. Numero uno amigo."

Eddie chuckled at the nicknames. "And the girl? Bev?"

Richie nodded. "Beverly Marsh. I licked her face in English class and we became friends." He watched Eddie gag. "She's helped me figure a lot of things out."

He didn't know where that statement came from, or why he was so quick to admit that to someone he barely knew.

Eddie's curiosity was piqued, however. "Oh? Like what?"

"Like how good it feels to fuck your mom," blurted out Richie, using an old joke that doubled as a coping mechanism for when he was uncomfortable.

_Why would you say that, dumbass?_

Eddie was taken aback by Richie's sudden change of tone, albeit not as offended visibly as Richie expected. There was something behind his eyes, though, that didn't seem sad, exactly, but stronger than disappointment. The way his lip curled with the weight of something unknown to Richie, like a secret held deep.

"That is so _not_ funny."

Fuck. 0-2.

The other boy turned away from Richie, his scowl radiating such a negative energy that the taller boy shrank against it, not even in its full force.

"Hey. _Hey_." It was a risk, but who said Richie was a safe person?

Eddie turned and stared down at the hand that appeared on his shoulder. Richie stared at his own limb too, if not to just avoid eye contact.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't cool." His fingers started to feel warm. "It's an old dumb joke. From when I was a kid." He dropped his hand from Eddie's shoulder. "It just comes out sometimes."

_Really stating your case there, Tozier._

There was something about Eddie’s silence that seemed so very, _very_ loud.

Richie pushed his glasses back on his nose and slumped back into his chair. “I’m not an asshole. Well, I _am_ an asshole, sometimes, but dude, I’m not trying to make you hate me on day two.” 

Eddie broke his scowl, turning it into a softer, straight line. Out of the corner of his eye he gave Richie a once over, scanning him like a price tag. He opened his mouth to speak, and Richie felt his stomach tighten.

“I’m not… mad, at what you said. Exactly.”

_Way to be vague as hell._

Richie looked at him expectantly, waiting for more.

Eddie turned back to face him this time. “I know you have no way of knowing this, but my mom, in any context, is a rough subject.”

_Oh my god is she dead? Did I joke about fucking his dead mother?_

“Is she…” Richie had a horrified look on his face, and Eddie rushed to save him.

“She’s not dead.”

A sigh of relief escaped him.

“She’s just… I have…” Eddie seemed unsure of himself, like he didn’t know if he should be sharing the information he was about to say. “I don’t really wanna talk about her.”

Richie studied the shorter boy, something that he seemed to be able to do shamelessly as of late.

“Listen, there’s a time and place for every story, and if you never find the time, then I won’t string you up by the balls.” Eddie winced. “But we just have to survive four hours in this cramped ass space together, almost everyday, for the next three months. You think we can manage that, Spaghetti?”

Watching Eddie smile again was like watching a cat fall asleep. It was calming, and oddly satisfying. He had a nice smile.

“Sure, Trashmouth. I think we can manage.”

  
  


They had five. Five calls for _Africa_ by Toto that night.

Of course, Richie had Eddie play them all.

By the third play Stan had texted Richie a set of various angry emojis, followed by a simple threat: _I’ll kill you in your sleep._

Richie of course followed it up with: _Don’t threaten me with a good time ;)_

The night came to a close not as quickly as last night, but still quicker than Richie wanted it to. It still felt awkward between him and Eddie, but he was trying his best to not let it eat at him. He already said he was sorry, and that was a miracle in itself.

Eddie locked up the station quickly, yawning loudly. He seemed more beat than Richie was, which lead to more questions that he wasn’t going to ask.

“You gonna be okay getting home?” Richie asked again. There were too many creeps on campus for him not to, obviously.

“Are you gonna ask me that every night for the next 3 months?” Eddie quipped back, with the same grin from the beginning of the night.

“Maybe.” Richie rubbed the back of his neck, his face hot for some unknown reason.

Eddie chuckled softly. “Get home safe Rich.”

  
  


The dorm was dark, but Richie didn’t expect Stan to be asleep. He thought he would be waiting in the wings, ready to strike silently, like a Jewish ninja.

He couldn’t have been more wrong, because Stan was tucked in bed, snoring softly. So much for his threat.

Still, Richie tiptoed through to his side, taking off his clothes as quietly as he could, which was a skill he never thought he would have to possess. As he took off his glasses and wormed his way into bed, exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks. Thank god for afternoon classes.

A faint buzz drew Richie out of his not quite sleep. His phone was still in the pocket of his jeans, left on the floor.

Did he get up or leave it? What percentage was it on? He couldn’t remember.

A couple minutes passed and Richie didn’t move. It buzzed again, and this time Richie stirred. That was Eddie. He should at least answer. Right?

Reluctantly, he swung out of bed, albeit quietly and scrambled around blindly for his jeans. Why didn’t he put his glasses on?

Feeling the hard plastic of his case under the denim, he let out a soft noise of victory. He pulled the phone from his pocket and unlocked it, pulling down the notification bar. The phone screen was way too bright, and he squinted while turning down the brightness before he could read the messages.

**Eddie Spaghetti:** _Hey I made it back home. Are you alive?_

Richie chuckled internally. Should he tell him no

**Eddie Spaghetti:** _I really hope you don’t feel bad about tonight. I know you don’t really know me but I don’t want you to /not/ be yourself. I’m starting to enjoy your company, Trashmouth. :)_

There was a feeling in Richie’s chest that he wasn’t familiar with, and certainly not a feeling that he thought he would ever feel while sitting on his dorm floor, pantsless. He couldn’t think of a response, which was also unlike him, but he tried, knowing he didn’t have much of a window left before Eddie passed out on him.

**Me:** _i manage to live another day *thumbs up*_

 **Me:** _thanks man. ur not so bad either :P_

Few words were better than too many words, Richie thought to himself. He was known to ruin good moments with too many words.

A good moment. Huh.

The phone vibrated in his grip.

**Eddie Spaghetti:** _Get some sleep, Rich. You have a long night ahead of you later… and everyday for the next 3 months xD_

Another joke. Eddie had some surprises left in him.

That emoticon was a disgrace, though. Did anyone ever tell him “xD” was dead?

**Me:** _gnight spaghetti lol_

“Sweet dreams, Eds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave me a comment and tell me what you think! :D


	3. You Don't Have to Be So Brave (Tonight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan meets Eddie for the first time, and Richie is left to wonder if maybe his feelings towards Eddie run deeper than he wants to admit.
> 
> Later, Eddie opens up about his mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually cut this update in half because I thought this would be a good chapter on it's own. I know I promised that I would introduce more characters but trust me. Their introductions are well worth the wait. I'm already working on it.
> 
> Anywho, ENJOY!
> 
> "Brave"- The Shires

Seeing Eddie outside of the studio shouldn’t have felt like seeing an escaped animal from a zoo, but the confines of the studio hadn’t really helped, did it?

* * *

  
  


Stan had texted Richie to tell him to meet up at King’s before Richie’s class, since Stan’s morning class had been canceled, and of course Richie would have never turned the offer down. He made short work of leaving the dorm, and headed down to the street, walking briskly to the crosswalk. King’s was right across from the main building of campus, where Richie needed to be in about half an hour anyway, so he wasn’t putting much at risk for a quick stop.

The first couple weeks of classes were usually the hardest, just in general adjustment to the schedule and the amount of organizing that took place, and that was before Richie even knew about the radio station job, but after two and a half weeks the curly haired young adult felt like he had it handled like a bike with no training wheels.

Despite their rough going the first couple of nights, Eddie and Richie managed to get along better than Richie anticipated. Sure, the shorter boy was surprisingly spunky and foul-mouthed at times, but it was just a matching energy that Richie could compare to that of his other friends. It was certainly welcome, and a lot better than the tense silence that followed their second night together, after another case of Richie’s mouth diarrhea. That didn’t stop them from moving past it and getting along. Unless it involved a disagreement over music.

Aside from that, Richie’s junior year of college seemed to be going swimmingly. School was a pool, and Richard Tozier was Michael Phelps.

Stan stood outside King’s, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, while Richie approached. He glanced up from his screen and greeted his friend. “Hey Richie.”

“Didn’t check your email this morning?” asked Richie smugly.

First rule of college: check your email first.

Stan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I wanna see you wake up at the ass crack of dawn and want to check your email first thing in the morning.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Stan gave him the finger. “Alright Stanley Temple, let’s get you some bean juice.” Richie reached for the door and pulled it open, ushering his friend inside.

The line inside was surprisingly short, with only a couple people in front of them.

“Can I have that with almond milk?” The guy in front of them in grey scrub pants asked, and with the tail end of his order Richie could have sworn that he knew that voice. He dismissed it, turning to Stan, who looked over the menu.

“Do you know what you want, man? It’s on me,” he told Stan, as the scrub pants guy moved over. The guy in question turned to look back at the two and Richie met the familiar doe brown eyes of his co-host, and his heart did flips that made Tony Hawk look like an amateur.

 _What the FUCK was that?_ Richie wondered, trying everything to not touch his titty in shock.

“Spaghetti? Is that you?” It was so strange to see him without the shorts.

Eddie’s already big eyes widened in surprise. “H-Hey, Richie!” He started to move forward, almost as if he was gonna go in for a hug, but he became consciously aware of Stan’s presence and stopped. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

“Just getting coffee before class,” he said as nonchalantly as he could. On the other hand, Richie had forgotten that his friend was standing right next to him, until he felt the other boy’s bony elbow dig into his ribs. “Ow. With my friend Stan here.” He gestured to Stan, who gave Eddie a little friendly wave.

“Hi Stan, it’s nice to finally meet you.” He offered out his hand for Stan to shake, but the barista at the cash register let out a cough. It was their turn to order.

“Give us a second Eddie, don’t go anywhere,” Richie told him, turning back to the barista. Eddie chucked, grabbing his drink and moving out of the way of the other customers.

Richie and Stan gave their orders and moved over to where Eddie stood, out of the way from the coffee shop traffic.

“Anyway, Stan, this is Eddie, my co-host.” Richie flicked out his hand in grandiose fashion. Eddie reached out his hand again for a do-over shake, which Stan took welcomingly. “Eddie, this is Stan.”

“I don’t get a title?” Stan asked, playfully hurt. Richie rolled his own eyes.

“This is Stan, best friend and exclusive member of the _I Put Up with Richie’s Bullshit_ Club.”

“How does one gain membership to this club?” Eddie asked, keeping up well. Stan raised his eyebrows.

“Well, you have to be subjected to Richie’s foolishness for an extended period of time without losing all sanity, so I feel like you’re basically an honorary member. Not sure if I can congratulate you on that.” Stan stated, and Eddie let out giggle.

“I don’t think he’s that bad, but I’ll take it,” he said with a smile. Stan looked over at Richie with an incredulous spark in his eye, but Richie was too busy melting on the inside, like an M&M inside the warm palm of a toddler’s hand. “I gotta go though, I have a class soon and my building is kinda far. I’ll see you tonight?”

That was such an innocuous question, but for some reason it sent a shock up Richie’s spine. He didn’t need coffee anymore.

“Yeah, see you tonight.”

“Bye Stan, nice meeting you.”

“Likewise, Eddie.”

The two boys watched Eddie leave, and after grabbing their coffee, left not too long after, albeit heading in the opposite direction.

They crossed the street in coffee sipping silence, letting the caffeine work its way through their systems. After a proper moment of appreciation to the great force of caffiniation, Stan turned to Richie, a quirky smile inching over his face.

“So, Eddie seems nice,” he said innocently.

Richie nodded, not even knowing what door Stan was trying to open. “I was sure he was going to be a major stick in the ass, but he’s actually kinda cool.”

“When were you gonna tell me you had a crush on him?” Stan asked, taking a sip of coffee.

Richie stopped in his tracks. “ _What?_ ”

Stan gave him a look. “Oh come on Richie, don’t act brand new.”

“I-I’m not I-” Richie caught his breath, which was suddenly lost. “I barely know him.”

“That doesn’t stop anyone from having a crush,” Stan reminded him. Richie gave him a blank stare. “Listen, he seems nice. You could do a lot worse.”

“Gee, thanks. But I do _not_ have a crush on my co-host. That’s just bad work practice.” Richie was insistent, and there was something in the tone of his voice that Stan never heard before, a strain that made him freeze.

“Alright. Okay. I believe you.” Stan decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, only for his friend’s sake in the moment.

“ _Thank_ you.” The thundering beat of Richie’s heart managed to slow to a reasonable speed, and he felt a wave of calm wash over him.

There was no reason to ruin an already good thing, right?

* * *

It took until the end of September for Eddie to open up about his mom.

It was halfway through one of their weeknight shows, and they had been relatively open with each other on previous nights, talking about school and how they felt about their classes so far, nothing too deep or philosophical. Richie learned that Eddie had two roommates in his student apartment, that he hardly saw now because of the radio show and his own involved schedule. Eddie learned that Richie was from Cleveland, Ohio, and no, he never saw LeBron James in person. Small factoids, bits and pieces of their lives they willingly shared with each other without second thought, very easy, with each night passing.

So when Eddie opened his mouth to speak during one of their blocks of music, the last thing Richie imagined he would say was-

“My dad died when I was ten.”

Richie broke his focus on the material pattern of the microphone to look over at Eddie, who stoically faced the taller boy. There was determination there, in the creases of his knit brow and hard pressed lips. He swiveled to give Eddie full attention, not a single joke floating in his brain.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Eddie.”

Eddie pressed on, with only a small tip of his head as an acknowledgment to Richie’s sympathy. “After he died of cancer, my mom became a severe hypochondriac, and insanely overprotective. She-” His voice started to shake, and Richie moved closer, only to close the intimidating gap between them. He still gave him plenty of space. For emotions.

“She made me believe that I was always in danger of some unknown deadly disease, and that I was basically allergic to life. It was awful. I still love her. I know she was just trying to protect me, so she wouldn’t lose me like she did my dad. But part of me knew that once I graduated I had to get far, far away.” Eddie let out a deep, unsteady sigh. “She still tries. To interfere with my life. My aunts, they try to keep her at bay but even on my first day back she was calling, begging for me to come back. I had the worst panic attack and almost didn’t make it to my classes. It was a horrible day.”

“I can imagine,” Richie replied softly.

“It’s a miracle I make it through the summer.” Eddie played with the zipper of his fanny pack. “My dad… he was the last person to call me Eds.”

Richie understood. “Ah.”

“It wasn’t right to snap at you, but everyone else I’ve known never tried to call me that before. It brought back a lot of bad feelings.”

“I’m sure they also didn’t joke about fucking your mom, either,” said Richie, instantly regretting it. But Eddie laughed.

“No, they didn’t. It’s funny, looking back on it. Definitely a bold choice of words,” Eddie smirked.

“What can I say? I’m a bold person.” And modest, apparently.

“I’m starting to learn that about you Richie,” he said, flicking the taller boy’s flannel shirt, and subsequently flicking something in his heart.

Richie searched the shorter boy’s eyes, and a real, adult thought struck him.

“Hey, would you want to meet my friend Bev? I think she could help you.”

Eddie sat back in his chair apprehensively. “Help me how?”

Richie knew he had to tread lightly, but that was like asking an elephant to cross a tightrope. “Well, I think she could help you get into the campus therapy program.” He watched Eddie’s expression drop and he backpedaled. “I’m not saying that you have to have therapy, or need it or whatever. But Bev, she-” Beverly was such a private person, and the subject of her dad wasn’t one she openly discussed, much less wanted her friends to, unbeknownst to her. But Richie was sure that if he explained that she would forgive him. “She was majorly abused by her dad as a kid. And she’s used campus therapy to help her through all of that. I think if you talk to someone, at least you’ll get a load off your chest.”

Something about Eddie’s silence still unnerved him still, it was almost worse than getting yelled at.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“ _No_ , God no Eddie. I don’t joke about the trauma of my friends.”

Eddie seemed startled by that proclamation. “W-we’re friends?”

There it was again, that melty chocolate feeling.

“Yes, Spaghetti. I think it’s safe to call us friends.” Richie didn’t hold back the grin that cracked open his face, which seemed contagious, since Eddie returned it with one of his own.

“Alright. When do you want me to meet her?”

Richie flipped through his mental calendar. “What’s today, Wednesday?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus. The days just blur together.” Richie thought back to her schedule. “What about tomorrow?”

Eddie shrank. “Tomorrow is my long day. What about Friday?”

He would have to double check with her, but it was doable.

“Friday it is.”

Eddie leaned back in his own chair, and Richie felt every muscle in his abdomen release at once. He really needed to ask Stan if that was normal.

"Thank you Richie."

"Don't thank me yet. You still gotta survive your meeting with Bev,” he told him, more ominous than necessary. She was a girl, not a fucking shark.

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” said Eddie matter-of-factly. Richie admired the growing confidence he got to see in Eddie over the last couple of weeks. He still refused to speak on air, but some things weren’t meant for everyone. Still, Richie was determined to get him on the airwaves by the semester’s end.

That was his little secret, though.

“I believe ya, Spaghetti.” Richie turned back to his side of the table and traced the base of his mic absentmindedly. “I feel like I should tell you some backstory shit now.”

“Haha, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Eddie insisted.

“Well now I’m gonna. Fuck you.” The taller boy watched Eddie throw his hands back in defeat. “You get to learn the Trashmouth origin. You’re welcome.”

"Oh, I'm so honored," Eddie said, his sarcasm not lost on Richie.

"Buckle up. It's a ride." Richie rubbed his hands together. “So my dad, good old Wentworth Tozier, is a dentist, and when I was younger his vocabulary didn’t really extend past the seven main swears. So of course I…”

  
  


The night seemed to fly by faster each time, and Richie couldn’t exactly say that he wasn’t to blame. After all, time flies when you’re having fun, right?

They locked up the studio in what was now a routine, and stood together in the hallway for their goodbye, which was pretty absurd at this point, but it happened anyway.

Only this time, it was different.

“Hey, Richie? I know it’s a little out of the way, but would you mind walking me to the apartments?” Eddie asked. Richie turned to him, blinking in surprise. “My roommate told me there was a big concert tonight and people would be out all over trying to come back to campus.”

“And where would my protection be, Spaghetti?” he jested, only Eddie didn’t seem to take it as a joke and made a face. “Hey hey hey, no, don’t do that thing with your face, I’m kidding. Of course I’ll walk with you.”

Eddie’s entire demeanor brightened and Richie felt like someone took out his heart from his chest cavity and slammed it into the floor. How was one person so fucking adorable?

Not adorable. Not adorable, he reminded himself. Eddie was a fucking gremlin. A toad.

A pretty eyed toad with freckles and nice legs and-

 _Snap out of it, Trashmouth_.

“Thanks dude, I appreciate it,” said Eddie as they made their way down the hallway to the front of the building. The science building where the studio was housed had its own front and back entrances. Richie usually came from the back, since it was much closer to the dorms than going all the way to the front and wrapping around. The student apartments, however, were across from the front of campus, a street behind where King’s sat. So not too far, but definitely a walk.

What did Richie have to do that was so important anyway? _Sleep?_

“Someone’s gotta protect those sexy Tina Turner legs of yours,” Richie found himself saying casually, despite his own internal warnings just a second ago. Immediately he felt his face grow in heat to temperatures that would make the sun jealous.

Eddie chuckled uncomfortably, and Richie thought that was it. His life was over. He could never face the radio show again.

Until…

“Richie… Do you think I’m feminine?”

That question hit Richie in a weird place. Maybe it was the combination of the stark, bright lights in the hallway, or the way Eddie’s eyes begged for an answer that would make him feel better about himself.

“I wouldn’t call you feminine, Eddie. I mean you do have great legs but that isn’t inherently a feminine feature.”

Eddie was very quiet while they crossed through into more of a lounge area, before the large double doors. Richie wondered if maybe that was the wrong thing to say but, really, how do you answer a question like that correctly?

They made outside into the crisp fall night air. A slight breeze nipped at their legs, and again Richie wondered, this time about how Eddie managed to walk around at night in his signature shorts. He tried to not focus on the shorter boy’s legs again, in case it got him in more trouble.

“I know there’s nothing wrong with being a “feminine” guy, ya know?” Eddie said, breaking the silence. “And it seems insensitive to bring it up because there are people that _want_ to be perceived that way, and aren’t. Which really sucks. But I just feel-” He stopped to reach out and press the crosswalk button. “That people just use it to make fun of me? Or not take me seriously?”

Richie felt like a puppy that was guilty of peeing on the floor, and it showed.

“I know _you’re_ not, Richie. Please don’t feel bad. _Ugh_ , I suck.”

“You don’t suck, Spaghetti. You should be able to talk about this. It obviously bothers you,” he observed, noting the way Eddie’s eyes flickered between his face and the sidewalk.

“I’ve just… always been an easy target. It doesn’t help that I’m-” Eddie stopped mid sentence again, this time looking almost scared of what he was almost going to say. “-I’m a male nursing student.”

Richie had a burning desire to know what he was really going to say, but thought against pushing it. “Yeah, no I get it.”

“I mean, you see the shorts, and the fanny pack. And I’m still a little germaphobic. But there’s reasons for that, I mean the shorts are comfortable after a long day! And the fanny pack is more convenient than a whole bag when you’re on the go! I just hate having to explain myself to people so they don’t think stupid shit about me, like I’m a “sissy” boy.” Eddie took a breath. “Again, I feel like that’s kinda insensitive. But it’s been a thing my whole life. Like I’m underestimated.”

They were reaching the street that the apartments sat on, but Eddie had told him on a night previous to this one that his building was farther down. There were three total, with three floors each, made out of a sandy colored stone, with modern key card reading doors after the front entrance. You could come in, but getting anywhere else was next to impossible without a card, Eddie had told him. Unless the twenty four hour security was made aware of you ahead of time, and you showed ID.

So Richie could never just pop up and visit. Not that he ever thought about it, anyway.

“You want me to be honest with you Eddie?”

The shorter boy nodded.

Richie found himself grinning. “You honestly scare me a bit”

Eddie gave him a skeptical scoff, but Richie pressed forward.

“I’m serious. Dude.” The taller boy flipped around as they walked toward Eddie’s building, now walking backwards, despite Eddie’s worried gasp. “You went from being a shy dude that Rat Boy Jerry tried to grill on our first day, to a foul-mouthed little badass.”

“I’m not little, I’m like five-nine. That’s average,” mumbled Eddie.

“You roasted a guy while wearing a fanny pack, stood your ground with me, and spent another four hours in a dusty room with nothing but a Cliff bar and hand sanitizer, and that was _twenty-four hours_ after meeting me. You’re a badass, regardless of what other shitty people think, shittily.” Richie finally felt nervous walking backwards and stopped, so Eddied stopped with him. “If it means anything, Eddie, I never thought you were feminine. But I don’t think it matters anyway. Because you’re pretty cool, in my book.” _And really fucking cute. And sweet, and thoughtful._

Shit. Maybe Stan was right.

What a fucking asshole.

It happened faster that Richie could process, but suddenly Eddie’s arms were wrapped around him tight. A rush of scents caressed his nose. His hoodie smelled like vanilla, and he detected a little old fashioned Old Spice. The blue gel kind. His brown hair brushed softly against the bottom of Richie’s chin, and he was warm against his chest and.. maybe this was a dream. Was he really getting hugged by Eddie Kaspbrak?

Before he could think anymore, it was over. Eddie broke away, looking almost flushed under the streetlight, his arms crossed, almost folding in on himself.

“Sorry. I’m not… _usually_ a hugger.”

Richie stood, stunned. Why didn’t he have the power to rewind time?

“It’s-It’s okay. I uh, don’t usually get hugs.” That was a bit of a lie. Beverly hugged him when she was excited, and Stan had given him a few bro hugs in the past. Eddie’s hug was _different_.

It was short lived, but Eddie’s hug was incredible, in comparison.

“Did I make things weird?” Eddie asked sheepishly.

“No, Spaghetti. Nothing is weird to me.”

Eddie beamed. “You’re cool too, Richie. I’m really happy that we’re friends.”

Yes. Friends.

“Me too, Eddie.” Richie felt a part of his heart break off, but it was fine. He couldn’t have everything he wanted.

Knowing Eddie seemed like enough.

In another life, they really could have been childhood best friends. Richie was sure of it.

Right now, standing across from each other in the yellowish light of the street, they _were_ friends. Maybe Richie wanted more. And that was okay. But he was also happy just being Eddie’s friend.

It felt right.

“I think I’m okay from here,” said Eddie. Richie tried his best to not look sullen, but it was getting late, and he still had to walk home.

“I see how it is. Call a guy a badass and he thinks he can just parade the streets,” Richie lamented dramatically, even though he was extremely proud of Eddie. It took a lot to be this open so quickly.

It was nice to feel trusted.

“You still have to walk home by yourself. What does that make you, huh?”

“A hazard.”

A snort echoed over the street. 

“I think it’s your bedtime Richie,” Eddie sauntered past him, grinning from ear to ear. Richie stared, mouth agape. What a sassy little shit.

“I’m just gonna stand here until I see you walk through that door,” Richie countered. Eddie shook his head, but in an amused way. Richie could almost catch the smile he was trying to hide. “You got anything to say about that?”

“You’re crazy Trashmouth!” Eddie shouted as he walked away. Richie was still planted firmly in place, and watched Eddie walk down to his building. Eddie didn’t look back at him until he was at his building’s door, and once he did, he threw his head back in laughter. If they were in a cartoon, Richie’s heart would have pounded itself out of his chest, until it stood out with a foot of stretched out skin behind it, bright pink and thumping.

But this was all too real, and Richie’s blood circulating muscle managed to stay inside him.

Why did Stan have to be right?

“Good night, Spaghetti!” Richie shouted back, and turned around with a neat about-face. He didn’t dare look back to see if Eddie was watching him too.

He had a reputation to maintain.

Little did he know, Eddie watched. Oh how he watched.

  
  
  


Richie made it back to the dorm before three in the morning, somehow. He thanked his long legs as he settled into bed. His alarms were adjusted, and his glasses were tucked away safely. He got ready to text Eddie, to tell him that he made it home, but he stopped. He flipped over in his bed, to look over at Stan, who seemed sound asleep. The text bar remained blank.

“Stan?” he whispered. There was no answer. “I think you were right. I have a crush on Eddie.”

The silence in the room was comforting, for once. He hoped Stan would really be asleep so he didn’t have to hear him say “I told you so.”

Richie waited, almost anxiously. It was a different feeling, hearing it said out loud. He had a crush. For the first time in… how long? He couldn’t even remember.

Stan didn’t answer, which meant he was really asleep. Good. He could hear him gloat another day.

**Me:** _hey spaghetti i’m home. gnight._

It was pretty lame, but Richie didn’t feel like waxing poetic tonight. He turned back over, not waiting for a response. He could barely keep his eyes open.

Stan woke up at his normal time, way earlier than Richie. His roommate was practically dead to the world, snoring quietly away.

Once he gathered his things, he walked over to the other boy’s bed, watching him sleep, which should have felt creepy, but at this point in their friendship it was almost routine.

“I told you so, Richie,” he said softly, smirking along with it. Richie continued to snore, and Stan took that as his queue to go to class. He left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Funny how he was usually right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think! :)


	4. Let's Hear It For the Boy (Let's Give the Boy a Hand)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly meets Eddie after agreeing to help bring him to the therapy office on campus, and they share a few secrets.
> 
> A week later, Richie gets a call from someone who seems to be Bev's secret admirer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF ABUSE AND ASSAULT (INDIRECT)***
> 
> This chapter was a little harder to get through but I made it! I hope you all enjoy!

Friday was here, and Richie was nervous.

Nervousness was a newer emotion for him; he never had so much time to think in order to  _ be  _ nervous, but there he was, pacing around his dorm.

It didn't help that his conversation with Bev hadn't been the easiest.

  
  


"Richie, I understand what you want me to do, and it's very noble, but I really don't like that you told him about my dad," Bev told him, straightforward as usual. She didn't raise her voice, and only spoke calmly to her best friend, which honestly made Richie feel like a bigger piece of shit.

They were sat at a table in one of the lounge areas in the main building, next to the window. It was pretty quiet during this time of day, and private, which they both enjoyed.

"I know Bev, and I'm really sorry." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "But Eddie is such a guarded person, and I just wanted him to believe me. He already thinks everyone makes fun of him." He neglected to mention why, but that was a conversation he thought should stay between them.

Oh, the irony.

Richie put his glasses back on, and was able to see Beverly's analytical gaze. Her icy blue eyes could see everything, even the emotions that laid under the skin, hidden away from prying eyes.

"Richie, you really like this guy, huh?"

Richie bit his lip. "I mean, he's a cool guy, and I just think that-"

"Richie," she said again, her voice gentle. "You  _ like _ him, don't you?"

The taller of the two hung his head. He knew he had nothing to be ashamed of, and it was  _ Bev _ after all. Why couldn't he just tell her, like Stan?

Even though Stan didn't seem to act any different towards Richie since he said something last night. Maybe he really didn't hear him?

"I just… want him to be in good hands. Is that okay?" There was a lot in the tone of Richie's voice that told Bev so much more than what he was willing to talk about right now, and of course she accepted her friend's insistence.

"Honey, of course it's okay." She reached across the table and held his hand, a comforting motion she was all too familiar with. "You said tomorrow he's available?"

"Yeah. Around two."

"I can do that. Let me call the office and see if they can squeeze him in."

Richie squeezed her hand in a silent thank you.

God Bless Beverly Marsh.

  
  


Richie finally grabbed his keys and bag, and left the dorm. They were meeting at King's, since the counseling office was up the street near the nursing school building.

It was so close to Eddie's building that Richie had to wonder why he never tried to stop by. Maybe he had, and Eddie just didn't want to talk about it. But Richie didn't think so. Eddie seemed stubborn, like he didn't want help unless he asked for it type of stubborn. Stan was the same way, sometimes, but even he knew when to give in, and listen to Richie.

Beverly was already there, standing under the green awning, with probably her third cup of coffee in hand. Eddie wasn't there yet, he had warned Richie that morning in the studio that he would possibly be cutting it close because he had a test in one of his classes, but Richie wasn't worried about it. He knew that Eddie wouldn't get cold feet.

Would he?

“Hey Bev.” Richie stepped under the awning. His eyes adjusted to the sudden lack of sunlight.

Beverly looked up from her phone in her other hand. “Hey Richie. You wanna grab coffee?”

“No thanks, I had some earlier.” That, and his heart was racing on Eddie’s behalf.

Bev looked skeptical, but sipped on her own cup. “Any word from Eddie?”

Richie had to pretend like he hadn’t been looking at his phone the entire walk over there. “Not since this morning.”

“Well, the earliest I could get him in was two-thirty, but there’s a bunch of papers he needs to fill out, so I hope that he gets here soon, or they’ll push his appointment.” She wasn’t trying to sound bitchy, it was all factual. The fact that Bev was able to make an appointment alone was a small miracle, but after two years, she had her connections.

“He will be. As long as that test doesn’t run late.”

_ Come on Eds. _

“Are you coming with us?” Bev asked.

“Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I? My next class isn’t until four,” said Richie.

Bev bit her lip.

“Oh no, what?”

“I think... you should sit this one out.”

Richie tilted his head at her. “Excuse me? Did I hear that correctly?”   
Beverly scowled. “Don’t be dramatic, Richie, I’m serious. I think Eddie and I should talk, one on one. Parental trauma is hard enough to deal with, let alone have an audience for.”

“But Bev, I-”

“I know. You already talked to him, but that doesn’t mean he’ll share everything with you. He might not share it with me either! That’s the point of the therapist.” Bev reached up and held the side of Richie’s face. “You have a heart of gold, Tozier. And I know you care about this guy.” She moved her thumb in small, comforting circles. “But in order for him to get the most out of this, I think he needs to be on his own, with someone that can tell him everything that’s gonna happen. What he’s supposed to feel after he lets all that shit go.”

Richie leaned into her hand. Bev always seemed to know what to say to put him at ease.

“Okay Bev.”

She dropped her hand, a smile replacing her foul scowl. “Thank you. You know you can trust me, Richie,” she told him. She looked behind her tall friend, her gaze reaching past him to the crosswalk where Eddie stood, or at least, she assumed it was Eddie. He had a fanny pack on.

“Eddie?” She called out to him, waving him over. Richie nearly broke his neck trying to look behind him without swinging his entire body like blind octopus.

“Spaghetti! About time!” He shouted, as Eddie moved closer to the two. “I thought you were skipping town on me.”

“Yeah, right, like I would do that, asshole,” Eddie scoffed, sounding a little ruder than necessary. Richie could pick up the difference in their boyish banter, as opposed to when Eddie was actually upset. This seemed like one of those times.

Eddie looked over at Bev, who stood there with a smile. He knew her. The smile, the fiery red hair, shoulders covered in freckles like stars in the sky.

Beverly seemed to recognize him too, as her eyes widened and her smile drooped in a surprised way. Eddie, however, spoke first.

“Don’t I know you?” he asked her. Richie’s eyes darted between them.

_ What the fresh fuck is going on? _

“I- Uh… um.” Beverly looked panicked, something that Richie never saw.

“I do! You dated my roommate, Bill Denbrough.”

Now Richie was intrigued. Eddie never mentioned his roommates by name before.

“Your roommate is Big Bill?” Richie asked. Beverly broke from her panic and slapped Richie on the arm. “Ow,  _ fuck _ , Bev! That’s not like a dick thing, that’s literally what everyone on campus calls him.”

Bill Denbrough was an English major that won a literary contest last year, where one of his short stories got turned into a major motion picture. It was big talk on campus, especially since he was only a second year student. Everyone thought that he was a big Hollywood name now, hence the nickname, Big Bill.

Richie met the guy a couple times, and he seemed pretty down to Earth, even when Beverly broke up with him. Most guys didn’t seem to take Bev’s rejection lightly, but not Bill. He was pretty cool about it, from what Richie understood.

“Jesus, okay, wow. I’m sorry Eddie. That was an overreaction.”

“You’re apologizing to  _ him???” _ Richie squeaked.

Beverly winced at her friend’s pain filled voice. “Fuck, sorry Richie.” She rubbed his arm, and Eddie’s dirty look, even as a flash across his face, was not missed by her.

Interesting.

“Does this mean that you’re a conflict of interest Bev?” Richie wondered. He was really just looking for a reason to stay.

Bev gave Eddie a good once-over. She didn’t know him outside of being Bill’s roommate, aside from the information Richie told her. Sure, it was slightly awkward now, but she had a role to play, and there was one thing about Beverly Marsh that everyone knew: she never broke character.

“I don’t think so. Eddie?” The ball was in his court. Or so she wanted him to believe. “Do you think it will be a problem?”

Eddie looked at Richie first, way longer than needed, then at Bev. She had such honest eyes, it was hard to feel any type of negative feelings towards her.

“No, I suppose not.”

“Good!” She clasped her hands together. “Richie, you’re gonna be late. You should head back to campus, we should be good from here.”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to look panicked. “Wait, Richie isn’t coming with us?” He gave Richie a glare that said  _ I did not sign up for this. _

Richie managed a shrug. “It just came up. My professor wants to meet with us early. I’m sorry Spaghetti. But you’ll be okay. I believe in you.” He resisted touching Eddie, just in case Beverly couldn’t help but make a face, the kind of face you made when you knew that someone liked someone else. The “you like Krabby Patties, don’t you Squidward?” smug ass face. So he made his words count.

“I might strangle you later,” said Eddie, too calmly.

_ Don’t threaten me with a good time _ , Richie thought to himself. Thank god Bev wasn’t a mind reader.

“Come on Eddie, let’s go. You got paperwork to fill out,” said Bev, almost pushing the brown haired boy away from his co-host. Richie walked to the other end of the street, to the crosswalk that was closer to the law building. He watched Bev and Eddie walk down the street until it was time for him to cross.

_ Please don’t kill each other. _

  
  


Eddie was going to kill someone.

Not Bev. She didn’t do anything wrong.

But  _ someone _ was gonna die today.

Bev watched as Eddie sulked while they walked down to the student assistance building where the counseling office was housed. Angry men were never something Bev handled lightly, but it seemed that Eddie was more upset than angry, maybe even disappointed?

“Hey, you okay?” she asked, trailing next to him. He kept his eyes cast downward. “Listen, I know this is hard, but this will be good for you.”

Eddie stopped in his tracks and faced her. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Bev was taken aback by his sudden hostility, but it wasn’t hard for her to figure out where it was coming from.

“You’re right. I don’t.”

That wasn’t what Eddie expected.

“I don’t think Richie could be called an expert either.” He scowled. “Trust me, I get what you’re feeling. Richie is the first person you’ve opened up to in a while, right?” She watched him nod slowly. “Richie is a good guy, and I can vouch for that.”

Eddie’s eyes shifted back to the ground. “So, what, are you guys close?” He managed to look back up at her, and she saw something in his brown eyes that she recognized.

Jealousy.

“As close as two friends can be, which is why I’m doing him a favor,” she replied. “If you want to know if I like him romantically, you can just ask.”

“W-what? Why would I want to know that?”

Was this sift through bullshit week?

Beverly, despite her still positive demeanor, rolled her eyes. “Because you like him.”

Eddie stared at her like she told him his dog died. She expected more stuttering, or even another statement of denial.

Not what happened next.

Eddie staggered back, his breathing becoming rapid and short. His eyes darted around, looking anywhere but Beverly’s face. He reached into his fanny pack with shaky hands and pulled out an inhaler.

“Eddie? Eddie, are you okay?” Beverly kept her distance, but was prepared to help him if necessary. She knew what a panic attack was like.

He didn’t respond, only raising the inhaler to his lips. He pressed down and inhaled the medical vapor, keeping it in for a few seconds, then finishing his inhale. His mouth felt tingly, and his breathing slowed. That wasn’t normally how his panic attacks happened, but something triggered his asthma to act up as well. Either way, it was done now, and he was pretty embarrassed.

“Eddie? Can you talk?” He shook his head. “Okay. I’ll give you a minute. I’m so sorry.” Beverly looked like she was on the verge of tears, and Eddie felt guilty. He didn’t expect what she said to make him react that way.

Eddie swallowed. “I’m okay. Please don’t be sorry.”

“I triggered you, I have every right to be sorry,” she told him. He shook his head.

“I didn’t think… No, you’re okay. I promise.”

Beverly sighed. “Okay. Can I ask you questions with that subject, or should we just-”

“I do. I like Richie.” It almost sounded like Eddie was trying to convince himself, but he knew better. His still racing heart said so.

“I won’t tell him. That’s not my business, anyway,” Beverly closed the gap between them, now that Eddie was stable. “I feel horrible, Eddie. That was really invasive of me.”

“No, obviously you could see it. I’m just…” Eddie pursed his lips and waved his hands around in a flustered motion.

“You’re not out.” Beverly connected the dots. “I understand.”

“I mean, people know. Well, Bill knows, and I’m sure Mike isn’t dumb.” Bill was actually someone that Eddie thought he had a crush on, when they first met. But while Bill was a sweetheart, and a great roommate, and a talented writer, he just wasn’t Eddie’s type.

Eddie liked lanky boys with dark hair and dumb jokes.

Mike was someone Eddie getting to know. He was a sweet, African American guy that transferred from a school in Tennessee, so he still had some country living tendencies, like waking up before dawn. But he never treated Eddie weirdly, or different than any other guy, even with Eddie’s neurotic actions. And he definitely didn’t let anything past him.

“It’s still something I’m… accepting.”

“Your mom doesn’t know, I take it?” Beverly reached into her bag and pulled out a box of cigarettes. Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Want one?” He made a face, which she took as a no. “Don’t tell Richie, we have this thing."

"Richie smokes?" Eddie asked, mouth twisting.

"I wouldn't call Richie a smoker." She placed the cigarette in her lips and pulled the lighter from the box. "We do this thing where we buy a box for the semester, and the goal is to have some left before we break for winter." She lit the cigarette and inhaled. "I've been smoking since I was thirteen."

"That's horrible."

Bev chuckled. "Yeah, well, everyone copes differently. But Richie wanted me to try and quit, so I compromised. I think it helps."

Eddie watched the smoke leave her mouth as she spoke. "I'm sure." He thought about something to share. "I used to punch walls."

" _ You _ used to punch walls?"

Eddie wasn't surprised by her incredulous reaction. He had calmed down over the years, especially through high school, where his focus was on leaving.

"Hey. Everyone copes differently. And I was a very angry child."

Beverly was starting to like Eddie.

Richie sure knew how to pick 'em.

She grabbed her cigarette and put it out on the wall next to her, and shoved the remains in her box.

"Come on. Let's get you some therapy."

  
  


It went well.

After filling out his paperwork, Eddie was quickly called back to the office of Dr. Muschetti, while Bev stayed in the waiting room. She wished she could go back out and finish her cig, but that was her third one this week.

Instead, she texted Richie.

**Me:** _ Hey. We made it. _

**Tozier:** _ is he okay? :3 _

Oh, Richie. You smitten boy.

**Me:** _ He just went back but I think so. _

**Tozier:** _ok cool. should i wait until radio time to see him?_

 **Me:** _I think so. He'll need some time to process things._

**Tozier:** _ :/ _

**Me:** _ Don't make that face. _

**Tozier:** _ : / _

**Me:** _ Richie I will not hesitate to kick your ass. _

**Tozier:** _ wow. rude. _

**Me:** _ :3 _

**Tozier:** _ ur lucky we're friends _

**Me:** _ Am I though? _

**Tozier:** _ WOW :'( _

**Me:** _ ILY :D _

**Tozier:** _ -_- _

**Me:** <3

Beverly didn't hear back after that, so she wasn't sure if Richie was really mad or if something else caught his attention.

If he  _ was _ mad, he would get over it.

After what felt like hours, Eddie emerged from the back, holding a tissue to his red and puffy eyes.

The therapist gave him a reassuring shoulder rub as he sent him out, at the same time Bev stood to welcome Eddie back.

“Come back any time, Mr. Kaspbrak,” he told Eddie, a slight accent peaking through in his words.

Eddie nodded silently, still dabbing at his eyes. Dr. Muschetti closed the door behind him and Eddie walked up to Bev with a smile, albeit a sad one.

“How do you feel?” she asked him softly.

“Fantastic. Let’s take a walk.”

  
  


Bev and Eddie made it to the street and Eddie’s tissue was officially gross and soaked. He threw in the nearest trash can while they walked back to the main part of campus.

“Do you feel comfortable talking about your session or would you like to keep it to yourself?” Beverly didn’t want to put any pressure on Eddie to share his story with her, especially since she really didn’t share anything with him more than what Richie had told him.

Eddie sniffed. “Y-yeah, I can share a little. Um, my dad died when I was ten and I feel like he abandoned me with a monster.”

So they were more similar than Beverly previously understood.

“I mean, his death set everything in motion, and I didn’t think I was angry at  _ him _ , but I guess I am. That still doesn’t excuse my mom’s actions,” he affirmed to Beverly, who nodded supportively. “I still have love for her. Is that bad?”

Beverly shook her head. “Everyone with abusive parents is different. I have no love for my father.”

“Richie told me you were abused but he didn’t give me any details. You obviously don’t have to tell me what he did-”

“No secrets between survivors,” Bev cut him off. “My dad, after my mom died, assaulted me. Sexually.”

“Fuck.” Eddie ran a hand through his hair. “Bev, I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged. “It’s taken a lot for me to trust people, especially guys. Bill, Richie, Stan. They mean the world to me and I couldn’t imagine my life without them. Therapy is a great resource and I’m glad Richie could convince you to use it.”

A grin creeped its way onto Eddie’s face. “Yeah, me too. He’s pretty great.”

Bev wished Richie could hear that for himself.

“He’s the coolest dork I’ve ever met. And, your secret is safe with me, by the way.”

Eddie blushed a deep crimson. “T-thanks. I appreciate it.”

“You’re first in line for that one,” Bev smirked knowingly. Eddie stared at her. “Richie is like my brother. I love him dearly. But not in that way.”

“Oh.  _ Oh. _ Okay. Cool. Good to know,” Eddie stammered while rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, thank you, again.”

“No problem, Eddie.”

What could she say? She was very charitable today.

They stopped in front of King’s, where they were meant to diverge and go about the rest of their day separately.

“Give me your phone,” Bev ordered, holding out her hand. Eddie reached into his fanny pack reluctantly and pulled out his phone. She made a “give it to me” motion and he handed it to her, unlocked. She made quick work of saving her number.

“Text me any time okay? I’m serious. If you’re having trouble or if you need a buddy or anything, I’m here. We gotta stick together,” she told him, handing back his phone. “You have class now?”

Eddie shook his head. “I’m gonna go home. You?”

“I have rehearsal. But I’ll see you around, okay? You’re my friend too, now.”

That made Eddie smile.

“See ya around, Bev.”

  
  


Eddie unlocked the door to his apartment and was surprised to see both Bill and Mike home at the same time on a Friday.

What a day for small miracles.

“Hey, Eddie!” Mike craned his head back to look at his roommate from his position in his recliner. Bill sat across from him on the couch, splayed out with his laptop open. It looked like Mike was watching a Marvel movie.

“Hey guys.”

Bill gave Eddie a silent wave. He looked like he was hard at work on another story, his fingers clicking across the keyboard.

Mike paused his movie, and turned so that he could give Eddie full attention. “How was your day?”

Eddie went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. All the crying he did made him super dehydrated. “It was fine. I, uh… I went to therapy on campus today.”

The sound of clicking stopped and it was Bill’s turn to look at his roommate. “Oh? Really? How was that?”

“It was good. Um, you remember Beverly Marsh?”

* * *

During the first week of October, Richie and Eddie got their first romantically inclined request phone call.

Sure, other people had called before to request songs for their significant others, but this call was different.

Maybe not their first, but their most  _ unique _ .

“Caller, you’re on with Trashmouth and Spaghetti.”

“Hey Trashmouth. I’m calling to make a request for a missed connection,” a male voice on the deeper side said, capturing both boy’s interest.

Richie sat back in his chair, fingers pressed together pyramid style. “Go on, caller. You got a name?”

“Do I have to use my real name?” he asked. Eddie rolled his eyes and Richie stifled a laugh.

“No, caller, you do not have to use your real name.”

“Okay. Um, you can just call me New Kid on the Block. That’s what I was singing when she walked in on me working at the campus library.”

A man with interesting taste in music. Wonderful.

“Fan of boy bands huh?”

“Something wrong with that?” New Kid challenged Richie, daring him to say otherwise.

“No no, I love my Backstreets and my Directions.” Now it was Eddie’s turn to hide his laughter. “What’s your missed connection like, New Kid?”

“She’s on the taller side, beautiful red hair, like winter fire. January embers,” he sighed, then coughed. “She has freckles and blue eyes, and a cute laugh.”

That sounded like Bev. Was this guy calling about Beverly Marsh? Richie’s best bud?

“Sounds like quite the fox,” Richie told him. He covered his mic with the palm of his hand and faced Eddie, eyes wide. “It’s Bev! He’s talking about Bev!” Richie hissed.

Eddie shook his head. “No way,” he mouthed.

Richie glared at him. How could he be wrong?

He took his hand off the mic and leaned in, now invested. “Any other descriptors someone might find useful?”

The guy on the line whistled low. “Uh, I don’t want to sound like a creep.”

“You don’t have to give me your best guess at her bra size man!” Richie exclaimed. “Did she have anything interesting on? Like cool shoes?”

“She had a bracelet on, I think it was red string, and three black beads. That’s all I remember.”

_ All that you want to admit you remember, _ Richie thought to himself. But that was enough to tell Richie that he was right: New Kid’s missed connection was Bev.

“Well you heard it here folks. New Kid here is looking for his ginger Cinderella with a red beaded bracelet. If you feel like you fit his description, please try to find him at the library.”

“Actually, don’t do that-”

“So New Kid, you said you had a song for her?”

“Uh, yeah. Can you play  _ Step by Step _ ? That’s the song she heard me singing.”

“You got it New Kid.” He waved at Eddie to queue up the song. “And hey, good luck finding her. I hope she’s all you’re looking for, man.”

Eddie watched Richie curiously. If this guy really was talking about Beverly, why was Richie so quick to tell this guy good luck?

“Thanks Trashmouth. Have a good night.”

Richie hung up the call, and glanced over at Eddie, who still looked at him. “You gonna play the song, Spaghetti?”

Eddie flushed pink and swung back around to face the computer. He pressed play, and music filled the speakers.

“So, were you right?” he asked Richie. The taller boy was staring at his microphone, an unfamiliar expression presenting itself.

“What?”

“I said, were you right?”

Richie snapped out of whatever train of thought possessed him. “Oh. Yeah. He saw her friendship bracelet. Me, her and Stan each have one.”

“So, do you think he’ll find her?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Now Eddie was sure that Richie was sad about something.

Eddie queued up at least twenty minutes of songs before he swiveled back to Richie. He wasn’t normally the type to invade other people’s spaces, but he learned with Dr. Muschetti that sometimes comfort needed to be physical, and that it was okay, to give or receive. Germs or no germs.

A gentle hand reached out and placed itself on Richie’s knee.

“Hey. Talk to me, Richie.”

Richie didn’t know what to be more surprised by: the softness in Eddie’s voice or his hand on Richie’s knee.

Weren’t knees supposed to be dirty, or something?

“It’s nothing, Spaghetti. Promise.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “Trashmouth, you’re a terrible liar.”

He didn’t know about that. But his poker face was anything but exceptional right now.

Richie pushed his glasses up past his forehead so that they sat on his head and rubbed his eyes. Was he really going to do this today?

“I’m happy for Bev. I am. I’m glad she’s in a place where she can have boyfriends, and guys that like her.”

Eddie sensed there was more. “But…?”

“But… I can’t help but be a little jealous. I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

Eddie’s hand dropped from Richie’s knee and he leaned back slightly, eyes wider than before but not completely bugged out in surprise.

“Or a girlfriend. Or anyone.” Richie let his glasses fall back onto his nose. “Hi, I’m Richie Tozier, and I’m bisexual. Surprise!” He made spirit fingers that were more like sarcasm fingers.

“Hi, Richie,” echoed Eddie, like he was at an AA meeting, making the taller boy break. “I get your jealousy. There’s nothing wrong with being a little frustrated. I can’t imagine how it feels to watch your friend be happy while you’re not.”

“It’s not that I’m not…  _ not  _ happy? I haven’t really been interested in anyone lately.”  _ Liar. _ “But would it kill the universe to have a person drop into my life that thinks I’m pretty too?” he wondered, placing his chin on his hands and gritting his teeth in the least attractive face possible.

Eddie burst out laughing, holding a hand over his mouth, to no avail. “I think you're gorgeous, Richie.”

Richie perked up, and his stomach fluttered. “Oh sir, don’t you jest!” he pleaded in a Southern Belle voice that was an octave or two higher than his own.

“You’re beautiful, Richie.”

Eddie avoided his gaze, and Richie wondered if… maybe…

“T-thanks, Spaghetti. You’re not... _terribly_ ugly, either”

“Wow, fuck you dude!”

Normal. Back to fucking normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think!


	5. We Can't Rewind (Eddie's Gone Too Far)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie's not sure what to expect when it's time to start school again, but being roasted by his counselor and having a mental breakdown in front of his new roommate were not on his list.
> 
> Typical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to give myself a little break so this chapter is a few days late, but I had a lot of personal stuff going on, including canceling my own birthday party that was supposed to be this weekend. (My birthday is March 22nd. Aries Gang :D )
> 
> However, I still wanted to give you guys an update instead of being mopey, so here you guys go. I hope I'm providing some quality entertainment while the world is in crisis lmao.
> 
> Enjoy!

When Eddie found himself in the guidance counselor's office a few days before classes started, he didn’t expect to be _fucking roasted._

  
  


The week before classes even started, Eddie was moving into his student apartment with Bill and a new guy that filled their third space. It was strange to have a third person after living with Bill for the last two years in the dorms, but Mike? Was that his name? Mike seemed nice, from his application that they shared with him and Bill. He was a transfer student from Tennessee, and had lived on a farm for most of his life, so he was a big animal person. Eddie tended to trust people that liked animals. They always seemed more sympathetic.

Despite farm animals being the most disgusting kind of animals.

Eddie arrived at the apartment first, which wasn’t unusual. Bill lived in Bangor, Maine, so he was closer, and more prone to being fashionably late for move in day. Eddie was from a small town in New Hampshire, and had to drive up to Derry, which took a couple hours, but with his mom’s dramatics, it usually took a couple hours to just get out of the door, even when he was packed up the night before.

Strangely enough, his mom was awfully quiet that day. She sat in her recliner, in her floral mumu, watching Wendy Williams, and hardly gave Eddie any attention. It was a welcome change, and maybe Sonia Kaspbrak finally accepted that Eddie was a man now, with a responsibility that wouldn’t be deterred by her hysterics.

He loved her. That was his Mommy. And that wasn’t going to change.

But every time he left, there was a part of him that never wanted to return.

“Mom, I’m leaving for school,” Eddie said, standing by the door. His mom finally broke her concentration on the television and looked at her son. Her expression was unreadable.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Eddie crossed the threshold to his mom’s chair and gently kissed her forehead. That seemed to satisfy her. There was no wrist grabbing, or last minute pleas for her Eddie-Bear to stay.

Maybe things were turning around.

So Eddie was early. Which meant first dibs on the rooms.

He dragged his first suitcase through the living room, which was kind small, and attached to the kitchen, only separated by an island granite countertop, and down the hall. There was one bedroom on each side, and one at the end, which mean the bathroom was on the other side of the apartment. A weird design, but he couldn’t complain. It was better than the dorms.

He looked through all three rooms, which were all pretty similar in layout. They all came with twin sized beds, which reminded Eddie a little of prison, for some reason. Maybe it was the metal frames. The cream colored walls were very calming, though. The mattresses all had a plastic protectant on them, which put Eddie at ease more so than the average person, but it wouldn’t stop him from looking for bedbugs. Which he did. In all the rooms.

He ended up picking the room at the end of the hallway. It wasn’t much different than the other two, layout wise. It had a window next to the bed, which he could move if he wanted to, but the idea of having fresh air next to his face was a pleasant idea. The closet was small, but Eddie could deal with that. He hoped that the plastic dresser he brought would be able to fit.

There was a wooden nightstand next to the bed, which Eddie thought was a cute touch. That would be a good place to keep his inhaler.

Eddie hauled his suitcase onto the mattress, and the crinkle of plastic loudly echoed through the apartment. The rest of his stuff was in his car, but it could wait. Bill said he was bringing a couch from home, and who knew what Mike would be bringing to fill the space.

Hopefully a microwave. Mrs. Kaspbrak wouldn’t let Eddie take the old one, for whatever reason he couldn’t remember. Or blocked out. One of the two.

Eddie left his room and walked around the living room space, and the kitchen, aimlessly opening the cupboards and drawers. Everything looked pretty clean, there were no heinous layers of dust anywhere. He silently thanked whoever was on the janitorial staff for their hard work.

At home, the cupboards were always overflowing with pills and snacks and things that Mrs. Kaspbrak thought they would need to prevent starvation. Eddie had tried in vain to keep it organized, but her bulk shopping made it nearly impossible, and, like her body, she had let it go.

Clean, empty cupboards were a godsend to Eddie Kaspbrak.

The fridge was a double door model with a drawer freezer, which was pretty modern and surprisingly generous. The oven was electric, and they also had a dishwasher. This was such an awesome upgrade.

The fact that Bill insisted on covering the rent on this place, even if it was campus owned, was the biggest surprise to Eddie. He was all ready to sit down with him and Mike to set up payments with his scholarship, but Bill had called him in the middle of July to tell him that he was using his movie money to pay for housing this year, and that he didn’t have to worry about it.

That was the thing about Bill Denbrough. He was as generous as he was talented, and he always spread his wealth to others, literally and figuratively. The only kicker was looking for a third roommate, but it turned out to be an easy process, and it looked like Mike was going to be a great fit, so Bill said. He had Skyped with the guy over the summer and assured Eddie that he had nothing to worry about.

If only Bill could learn to be on time.

The bathroom was his next step, and the room Eddie was most concerned about. He flicked the switch on the dark wall and the illumination revealed nothing disgusting. In fact it was spotless, as if no one had used it since it was constructed.

That wasn’t going to stop Eddie from doing a nice scrub down before using any of the facilities, but that was an event for later.

All in all, it was a pretty nice space. Everything passed Eddie’s inspection, which was a relief. He was starting to be glad that he was the first to arrive. Getting to see the entire apartment without the other two in the way put Eddie at ease.

There was a knock at the door, and he rushed to open it. Bill stood in the hall with three cardboard boxes stacked in his arms, his head peeking out from behind the tower of boxes. His brown hair flopped over his blue eyes.

“Thank g-god you’re here Ed-d-die.” Bill sighed. Eddie stood with his arms crossed.

“Did you knock on the door with your forehead?” Eddie asked sarcastically. Bill hung his head in shame.

“Maybe.”

“Jesus fuck, Bill.” Eddie reached out to grab a box and held the door open for Bill to come inside. That was the other thing about Bill: while he was talented as all hell, and sweeter than candy, he didn’t exactly have the brightest crayons in his box. “Get in here before you lose more brain cells.”

“I love you too, m-man.” Bill grunted as he crossed the doorway into the apartment. He set his other two boxes in the living room as gently as he could, and Eddie followed suit. “Did you pick a room?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Aww, man. I was h-hoping you would wait for M-Mike,” said Bill. His stutter was pretty bad today, which wasn’t all surprising. It tended to come out more when he was stressed, even with his work in speech therapy.

Eddie didn’t even think about it. Mike was technically their guest, a newcomer to their little clan. He should have gotten first dibs.

“Should I move my suitcase?” Eddie asked him sheepishly. Now he felt like an asshole.

Bill cracked a smile. “Nah. I’ll let him c-choose between the two left over. You got here first, and normal rules say that gives you first d-dibs.” He gave Eddie a sympathetic look. “P-plus I’m sure your mom was a real hellraiser today, right?”

Eddie found himself smiling, too. “Actually, she was quiet today. She didn’t give me any problems. Can you believe it?”

Bill’s eyes were bigger than headlights. “Eddie that’s _awesome_ !” he exclaimed, clapping the shorter boy on the back. Normally Eddie _hated_ when people touched him, but it was Bill, so it was okay. As long as the fucker remembered to wash his hands.

“Yeah, about time, right?” said Eddie. “Does that mean I have to give up my room?”

Bill chuckled. “No. But you have to help me c-carry the c-couch.”

“Deal.”

There was another knock on the door, which had closed behind them, and Bill opened it this time. An African American guy stood in the doorway with a red suitcase in tow. He had a beautiful smile that beamed out like a searchlight, and warm brown eyes that were like a hot cup of coffee.

“So this is where the party is at,” he said with a slight country drawl. He stepped inside and held out his hand to Eddie, the only other person he wasn’t familiar with. “Hi there, you must be Eddie. I’m Mike Hanlon.”

Eddie took his hand and shook it. “Hi Mike, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Y-yeah, just ignore the nice guy h-holding the door open,” Bill told him, sarcasm reaching a new high today. Mike turned and dropped the handle of his suitcase, letting it fall to the floor.

“Bill! You son of a _bitch_!” He quickly stepped over to Bill and wrapped him in a tight bear hug. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person, man!”

Bill seemed like a mix of overwhelmed and unexpectedly thrilled to be in Mike’s burly arms. “H-hey man, it’s nice to meet you too. In p-person.”

Eddie wanted to laugh, but there was something about Bill that was different. His cheeks were redder than tomatoes, and he didn’t push Mike away, like a dude bro would. He almost melted into Mike’s hug.

Eddie filed that away for a conversation to be had at a later date.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mike said, breaking their hug and picking up the handle from the floor. “The drive up here was nuts.”

“Wait, you drove?” Eddie asked, mouth dropping open. Bill looked just as shocked. “From _Tennessee_?”

“Hell yeah I did. Stopped for the night somewhere and finished the last nine hours today,” Mike informed them proudly. “I had to stop for gas, which is why I’m a little late. But it looks like the party has just begun.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a nap?” Eddie wondered out loud. Mike laughed heartily.

“Absolutely not. I’d lose all my momentum.” Mike looked around the empty apartment. “We gotta make the house a home, boys.”

“W-we were just about t-to move the couch in,” Bill told him, flush finally dying down.

“You got a couch? Sweet! I brought a recliner from the farm, and my TV, like I promised, Bill.”

 _Jeez, they should get a room,_ Eddie thought to himself. It was a wholehearted jest in his head, but he was starting to feel like a third wheel. And a chump, for not being able to bring anything outside of his own things and a box of cleaning supplies. He knew Bill didn’t care, but now he had Mike’s opinions to worry about.

Bill turned to Eddie. “You wanna do your t-thing, Eddie? While Mike and I m-move our furniture?” Bill was offering him an out to moving heavy furniture, and Eddie was more than happy to take it.

“What’s his thing?” Mike asked.

“I like to clean,” Eddie said simply, knowing his eyes were daring Mike to make fun of him.

Mike laughed. “I will not stop you there, Eddie. God bless you.” He clapped him on the back just like Bill, and Eddie managed to not flinch. Mike seemed nice already, but what were his hand washing habits?

He hoped they were good, working on a farm and all.

_Stop thinking about germs so much._

“Let’s split up and get to work,” said Mike, taking charge, which neither boy minded.

  
  


After a couple hours of moving and scrubbing, the apartment was finally coming together. The couch and recliner fit well in the living room and the TV was set up with cable that came with the apartments, and Bill’s WiFi, and Mike’s Firestick. Eddie scrubbed every inch of the bathroom and kitchen with disinfectant, which smelled like chemical lemon. Bill had a microwave that Eddie remembered from their dorm days that he called Clint Eastwood, because it was old, white, and temperamental, that found a place on the counter near the sink.

Mike picked his room, leaving Bill with the room without a window, which he didn’t mind. Eddie only worried that he would suffocate himself with his own methane gases.

Each boy set up their room to their liking, which didn’t take as long as they thought. Eddie’s biggest hassle was putting away clothes. He had school scrubs, work scrubs, hoodies, and a drawer completely dedicated to shorts. He didn’t have much to decorate his room with, only a lamp and a few books with Star Wars bookends. The cream walls screamed for posters, flags, anything. But Eddie didn’t have anything to silence them.

Maybe he could go to Walmart later and get a poster.

The only thing they were missing, after all was said and done, was food.

And after hours of hard work, boy, were those three _hungry_.

“I am f-f-f- _fucking_ starving,” Bill groaned.

Eddie whipped out his wallet and pulled out his Costco card. “Anyone up for a shopping trip?

  
  


Letting three hungry guys shop with empty stomachs was such a fucking mistake.

But it was a _great_ fucking mistake.

Mike was their savior. Eddie could cook somewhat, and Bill could burn boiling water, but Mike learned to cook from a young age from his grandparents, and he was more than happy to help keep the two from starving when all three would be available. He offered to teach Bill a couple things, too, in his spare time, after Eddie mentioned the burning water thing. Bill agreed, albeit embarrassed. Though Eddie wasn’t sure that the blush on Bill’s cheeks was actually from embarrassment.

It wasn’t his business to pry.

But he was eating this up.

Eddie picked out a few things for just himself, like his almond milk and his bulk box of Cliff bars. Mike looked at the box in disgust, but Eddie just brushed it off. It was better than not eating.

Bill was the worst. His idea of a meal was a giant tub of pretzels. Eddie almost choked him for putting three of them in the cart. Famous writer or not, he could still kick Bill’s ass.

They split the cost of the groceries and carted over a dozen bags to Bill’s car. The drive back to the apartment was a quick one, and each of them tried to see if they could outdo each other with the amount of bags they could carry. Mike won with seven.

They strew the bags all over the kitchen, which normally would have drove Eddie crazy, but he didn’t care. He was having _fun_.

As they put away their groceries, Eddie’s phone rang from his bedroom.

“Sorry guys, I gotta grab that,” he told them. He was expecting a call from his job that he had here in Derry during the school year.

But when Eddie reached his phone, he realized that it was definitely not them calling.

It was his mom.

Oh god, why now?

“Hi Mommy.”

“Eddie Bear? Is that really you?”

Who the fuck else?

“Yes Mom, it’s really me.” He strolled over to the doorway, where he could see nothing but the door of the bathroom across the apartment.

“You never told me that you made it to Derry, honey. Why would you do that to your poor mother?” Her voice was thick with guilt inducing disappointment.

“Mom, I was just moving in with my friends. I was busy.”

“First you leave me, then you’re too busy to call your Mommy? Is that how I raised you, Eddie Bear?”

Eddie balled up his fist. “No, Mommy,” he gritted his teeth.

“Those boys aren’t your friends. You belong with me Eddie. I’ve always taken care of you,” she told him. This was what she did, every year. Only she waited until he left.

She was fucking evil.

“I can’t deal with this right now, Mom.” 

“Excuse me? Is that how you talk to your mother, Edward Kaspbrak?” Her voice lost its Splenda sweetness, replaced with venom. “How dare you!”

“Mom, stop it, you’re being-”

“I raised you, by myself, and this is how you talk to me? After I took care of you and gave you everything I could? Where is your goddamn respect?”

“Mom. I’m not being disrespectful. You do this every time I leave.” He wasn’t angry anymore, he was just fucking tired.

“Your Mommy needs you, Eddie Bear. Come home, and all will be forgiven,” she told him, bringing back her nice voice.

That was it.

“No.”

“No? Did you tell me _no_?” Her voice was now a shriek.

“Yes, I _fucking_ said, no!” He yelled, and his voice cracked on the curse word.

“ _EDWARD JAMES KASPBRAK I WILL-”_

But he didn’t know what she would have done, because he hung up on her and threw his phone onto the mattress, where it bounced and hit the floor. He didn’t even wait for her to try and call again before he stormed out of his room and slammed the door. His body was full of rage.

He made it back into the kitchen, where Bill and Mike stood stock still, not even trying to hide the fact they heard him. Bill’s mouth was set in a tight, sympathetic line, while Mike avoided Eddie’s gaze, looking anywhere but at the shorter boy. Out of politeness, maybe?

“Eddie? You alright?”

The question set every molecule in Eddie’s body rolling, and he screamed, throwing his arms over the island counter and knocking over whatever he could. Bill rushed over until he was behind him, while Mike watched, stunned.

Eddie continued to yell, pounding his fists against the granite. He didn’t care if he pounded his fists into bloody knobs, he just needed to punch until he couldn’t feel anything anymore.

Bill stood behind him, avoiding the shorter boy’s fists. “Eddie! _Eddie_ ! EDDIE! _Stop_!!!” He yelled, but didn’t touch him. He knew that it was a deathwish.

Eddie pounded down one more time, then stopped. His breathing was deep, and his entire body shaked. He looked up and saw Mike staring at him, absolutely terrified.

That made his heart race, and his breath was gone, all oxygen leaving his body. He stepped back, unable to breath.

“Eddie? Walk to the fridge and sit. Can you do that for me?” Bill asked, all too calmly. He had dealt with Eddie’s attacks, asthma, panic, anxiety, all before. Eddie nodded, still hyperventilating. Bill watched him walk and then sit against the cold metal surface of the freezer door.

“I’m gonna get your inhaler, okay?” Eddie nodded again. Bill left the kitchen, and Eddie breathing started to settle. Mike gazed down at him, and Eddie still shook, now face flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, voice horse. Mike shook his head.

“Don’t be sorry, Eddie,” he told him, walking over and kneeling beside him. “I don’t know what you’re dealing with, and you don’t have to tell me. I get when shit is personal. But you’re a spunky white boy, and I like you.” That made Eddie giggle. “See? Look, I made you laugh.”

Mike was so nice. He hoped he hadn’t ruined everything.

“You like hot chocolate?” Eddie nodded. He was starting to feel like a bobble head. “I’ll make you some. My grandma taught me the best way.”

Mike stood and reached for the fridge door handle. “Move your head to the left.” Eddie listened and moved his head so MIke could open the fridge and grab Eddie’s almond milk. Eddie settled back into place and watched Mike hunt for a pot and the hot chocolate mix, along with a couple other things he wanted to add.

Bill came back with Eddie’s inhaler. “Am I smelling c-chocolate?”

“Nicknames are flattering Bill, but not needed,” said Mike, winking at Eddie.

Bill sputtered. “T-that’s not what I m-meant.”

Now Eddie was laughing, deep from the stomach.

“No, but it made our friend here feel better.”

Friend. Mike called him a friend. And they just met.

_Suck it, Mom._

“Eddie, inhaler,” Bill snapped. Eddie raised the cold plastic to his lips. The medicinal air was a relief to his system.

“Thanks, Bill.”

Mike poured Eddie’s hot chocolate in a mug that he found in the cupboards, and handed it down to him.

“Thanks Mike.”

“No problem. You want some, Bill?” He held the pot out for Bill to see and smell. Bill nodded enthusiastically. Mike poured Bill and himself a mug. Mike took a sip and made his way over to Eddie and sat down, right next to him. Eddie was pleasantly surprised by this gesture, but didn’t question it. Mike gave him a smile, and they sipped their hot chocolate together. Bill looked down at them curiously, and Eddie patted the spot next to him on his other side. Bill chuckled softly, but sat down with them anyway, despite how ridiculous they looked.

“Are you okay now Eddie?” Bill asked him.

“Yeah. I think I am. This hot chocolate is fucking great.”

They all got a good laugh out of that one.

“So, was that-” Bill started to say, but stopped, shutting his mouth quickly. Mike raised an eyebrow. Eddie understood, but if Mike was staying with them through this, he deserved to know the truth.

“My mom? Yeah.”

Bill frowned, and Mike looked between the two of them.

“I don’t get it. What’s wrong with his mom?” Mike sounded concerned, like Eddie was going to tell him some heartbreaking news.

“Mike, be glad you’re sitting down. It’s a long story.”

  
  
  


Before classes began, Eddie was supposed to meet with his guidance counselor. There were over a dozen on campus but he managed to keep the same one over the last two years, by some miracle. Mr. Ransone had way too much patience to be an actual human being, and after having an accidental glimpse at his chest tattoos, he wondered why he had this job at all, and not a job as a hitman or something.

“Eddie, nice to see you. How was your summer?”

A fucking dumpster fire full of shit.

“It was fine. Nothing exciting.” Eddie sat across from Mr. Ransone in a comfy chair, while the older man sat at his desk, scrolling through Eddie’s record on his computer.

“Well I can tell you Eddie that you’re doing a fantastic job on your studies and you’re on your way to graduating Summa Cum Laude. Do you have plans on getting your masters or any more extended education?” he asked.

Eddie tapped at the arms of his chair nervously. “I actually had plans to go to medical school.”

“What would be your concentration?”

“I would want to be a surgeon, Mr. Ransone.”

It was ironic. A panic prone asthmatic getting into medical school to become a surgeon. It sounded like a bad joke, but Eddie was determined. He wanted this more than anything.

“Don’t be so formal, Eddie. We’ve sat across from each other too many times over the last two years to be formal. Call me PJ,” he told him.

“Okay… PJ… I want to be a general surgeon,” Eddie said, a little more confident.

PJ clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! I’m glad you have a plan to continue your education into a beneficial career. Have you been working on your resume?”

Eddie cocked his head. “My resume?”

“Yes. Even though you’ll be continuing your schooling, building a resume will not only work out in the professional world of job hunting, but it will also make you seem more interesting and appealing to graduate schools.” PJ glanced over at his screen. “Are you still employed with the nursing home I set you up with last year?”

“Yes, I got my schedule yesterday. I’m working Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Eddie told him. PJ typed something and gave his attention back to Eddie.

“Are you doing anything else in school or outside of school that can be added as experiences?”

Eddie gave himself a second to think. He wasn’t part of any clubs or activities on campus, since his aversion to other people ran deep. He didn’t do much in high school either, aside from avoiding bullies. Or rather, letting bullies avoid him. His job was the only thing that got him out of the apartment. 

“No. Not currently.”

“Well then, Eddie, you are going to look like one boring motherfucker.”

“Excuse me?” Eddie’s voice raised an octave, out of pure shock that an adult in Mr. Ransone’s position would use such language.

Mr. Ranson put his chin on his intertwined hands in such an innocent way that it was jarring. “I’ve never bullshit you, right Eddie?”

“No…” Eddie was starting to get a weird feeling, like this was a secret camera show and someone was going to pop out and tell him he was Prank’D or something stupid like that,

“Well I’m not gonna start. This is your third year of college, and it’s one of the most important years in your educational career. What you do from here on out is gonna determine how you move forward.”

Oh. That was surprisingly informative.

“I understand. What can I do?” Eddie asked.

PJ went back to his computer. “Well, there is a resume program that the counselors use. It’s basically a giant forum for jobs and activities and clubs on campus that we sift through and try to match our students to a good fit. Since you don’t have a history on campus,” PJ raised a judgemental eyebrow. “Most of them should be opportunities that you would want to jump on.”

First of all, fuck you, Eddie thought to himself.

PJ scanned his screen. “It looks like a lot of programs are filled, but there are a couple that have a few spots open. How do you feel about being part of the Eco-Squad and picking up trash?”

Eddie let his face answer for him.

“Noted. What about the radio station here on campus?”

_There’s a radio station on campus?_

“They’re looking for someone to fill a night host spot. Could be fun?” PJ was being casual, but his eyes begged for Eddie to say yes to something.

“What’s the hours?” Eddie asked, trying to show some interest. It wasn’t far off, because a night job sounded doable.

“Monday through Friday, ten to two in the morning, and Saturday’s eight to midnight. Does that sound like something in your windmill?”

Eddie didn’t think the hours would be a problem. He wouldn’t see much of his roommates, and he felt bad for whoever he was stuck with, but despite that, he found himself nodding. “Yeah, put me in.”

“Excellent! I’m proud of you, Eddie. I think this will be a great experience for you.”

“Yeah, I’m excited.”

Spoiler, Eddie Kaspbrak was _not_ excited.

  
  


A few days went by before Eddie heard back from Mr. Ransone, but it ended up being good news: he made it in. He was going to be the night time co-host for the campus radio station.

Yay.

He was told in an email from a guy named Jerry Brashwitz to meet in the science building’s main hall at nine-thirty to go over the rules of the studio. He assumed that the guy was a student advisor of some kind, so he responded politely and set a reminder for Monday, which came sooner than expected.

As per Kaspbrak fashion, he was fifteen minutes early.

He dressed comfortably, but as he stood in the blinding white hallway, he felt like a specimen under dissection. Maybe the shorts were a bad idea.

The window of the studio wasn’t really doing much of a job being a window, but Eddie chalked it up to the lights being really dim. He didn’t know how anyone could work in the dark like that.

Eddie stood against the wall, arms folded, opposite of the window. He could see his reflection in the dark glass, and he wondered if the other person in the studio now was sizing him up, judging him even.

Why did he let himself get like this?

He turned his focus down the hallway, where a guy with curly blond hair approached him. He reminded Eddie of a human Stuart Little.

A mouse. But a cute, boyish mouse.

“Are you Eddie?”

Never mind. All mouse. No cute.

The guy had a horrible attitude and he only said three words.

“Yeah, I’m Eddie. Are you Jerry?”

“Yes I am.”

_What a pretentious fuck._

“Cool. Nice to meet you.” Neither boy held out a hand to shake.

Great, so this was going to be more awkward than he thought.

His saving grace was a guy in an eye-aching floral Hawaiian shirt. At a distance the guy seemed like the average stoner in school to please his parents. But as he got closer Eddie realized that the boy approaching him was… not that at all.

What the _fuck_?

Curly dark hair fell over dark blue eyes hidden behind dark rimmed glasses, a sharp jawline, and a smile that could melt cheese.  
“Hey, am I late?” asked the mystery boy.

Jerry rolled his eyes. “No. But you should really care about being on time.”

The guy in the shirt dropped his smile. “Are you the Jerry guy I’m supposed to meet?” His question was directed at Jerry, but his gaze fell over Eddie and suddenly he felt like he was on display.

“Yes. As per the email I sent the both of you.”

Eddie tried to not pay all that much attention to the guy, but he still looked over him, eyes traveling down Eddie’s torso all the way to his shoes as he settled against the wall, while he and Jerry stood in the middle.

“Well now that the two of you are finally here I can go over the rules of the studio with you both and then you can get started,” said Jerry.

Eddie hoped that someone would show them the equipment as well. He had no idea what to expect.

“So when it hits two in the morning, you let the last song play out, and then one of you signs off. There’s an automatic playlist set to play once you power down the mic. You each get a key, and when you lock up make sure that you guys keep it clean. No one wants to find trash in the morning.” He gave the other guy a distasteful glance, and Eddie wondered what his damage was.

“If you lose your key, you’ll have to pay for a replacement before the semester is over or you won’t get class credit or letter of completion.”

That was probably for Eddie’s resume.

“You guys do get paid, paychecks come every two weeks on Friday, and you’ll get paper checks for the first month. Got that?” He eyed the mystery boy again and he cracked a smile. “Good. You guys get to fight over who talks and who controls the music.”

“I’m sorry, we have to talk?” Eddie finally piped up. It was a late night slot. Why would that even be necessary?

Jerry narrowed his eyes at him. “Yes. This is a radio show. Someone talks to the listeners and takes requests over the phone.” He talked in a slow, condescending tone, and Eddie was getting embarrassed. “You’re from the resume building program right?”

He nodded, his face turning hot. 

“Did you realize what you were signing up for or did you just not care?”

 _I should kick this guy’s ass,_ Eddie thought angrily.

The other guy lunged forward from his place on the wall to stand next to Eddie, and put an arm around him, gripping his shoulder in an overly friendly way, like they knew each other.

“He’s kidding, man,” shirt guy said to Jerry, with a fake laugh. “We already agreed that I would be doing all the talking, remember? It’s a gift after all. My teacher told me you’re good at the music software so by all means, it’s yours.”

Eddie’s shoulders relaxed under his arm, and he felt a wave of calm wash over him. No ass kicking today.

Jerry glanced between them, obviously not amused but not invested enough to really care.

“Whatever,” he said, pulling out two keys and thrusting them at the two boys. “Just keep it clean, no swearing, and _no_ _smoking_. There’s cameras so don’t even try it.” He gave the taller guy one last scathing look, almost daring him to challenge him.

“You got a predisposition about me, man? Is it the Hawaiian shirt?” Shirt guy held out the colorful fabric and looked over it. “A Hawaiian shirt does not a stoner make, man.” He crooned in a raspy, deeper voice, sounding like Tommy Chong. It was a pretty dead on impression, and it made Eddie chuckle.

Jerry ignored him, flashing someone on the inside of the studio a thumbs up. The door turned and a girl with purple hair peeked out.

“Come on guys, I’ll show you everything before I leave.” She ushered them inside, flicking up the dimmer switch so the small space was better illuminated. It looked not at all surprising to Eddie: it was old, outdated, small, and dusty.

The computer that held all the music sat on the desk next to a microphone that was made before he was, which was an interesting mix of technology, since the computer was probably like ten years old. There were two swivel chairs with nice cushioning that looked almost comfortable. There was a door behind them that turned out to be a bathroom, which seemed like the smartest thing about this space, albeit kind of gross.

“So the red button on the front is what you press when you wanna talk, and it does hold down so be careful and remember to press it twice before you decide to have a private conversation. The phone is here,” she said, pointing to an equally ancient phone. It was a tan brick of a thing. “And all phone calls get aired automatically. If you get a heckler just put them on hold.” She demonstrated by pressing one of the buttons, and then pressed the bigger button at the bottom of the number pad. “And this is the speaker so that you don’t have to hold the actual phone. Helps when there’s multiple callers.”

Eddie really didn’t expect that they would have too many callers, but he watched his co-host nod anyway.

“I mean that’s pretty much it. The music system is pretty organized, you can search alphabetically for titles, or albums, or you can go by year of release. There’s so much music but if you can’t find something you want no one will snitch if you use Youtube or Spotify. You guys got this right?”

Oh. It was time to start. It was happening. Now.

“Pffftt, yeah, of course we do,” the other boy said.

 _Liar_.

Eddie nodded, and the purple haired girl smiled.

“Alright, I’m gonna sign off and play my last song so that you guys can get yourselves settled. Have fun, guys.” She pulled the mic over to the edge of the desk, while Eddie and the taller boy scrambled into their chairs.

“Alright guys, that was Mariana’s Trench rounding out my night. We’ve got newbies in the station tonight taking over the late night slot so be kind and send them love. I’ll be ending the night with a little Say Anything, to smooth out any troubles you may have. This is your girl Rigby signing off.” She pressed her button twice, and gave the boys a thumbs up. “It’s your show now fellas,” she told them, clicking play on her last song, and waving goodbye as she left, leaving them to their own devices. Literally.

Shirt guy let out a low whistle. “Well, fuck.”

“What a fucking _asshole_.”

Eddie stared hard at the computer screen, thinking of Jerry’s face. He _really_ wanted to put a hole through it.

“Geez, get to know me first, man.” 

That snapped Eddie out of it, and he looked over at the guy with big, apologetic eyes.

“God, I’m sorry, not you. That weasel dude that is somehow in charge of this fucking department.”

“Okay, so I’m _not_ the only one that thought he looked like a rodent. Good, because I was starting to feel like a little bit of an asshole,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair. “I’m Richie. Richie Tozier.” He offered his hand to shake, which seemed overdue, to Eddie.

He took it anyway. “Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak.”

A genuine smile made its way over the taller boy’s face. “Eddie huh? Eddie Spaghetti.” He gave Eddie a nickname. How fun.

“God, that’s a new one,” groaned Eddie, but not in an angry way. The song was almost over, and Eddie had finally noticed. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” he asked, almost desperately.

Richie looked over at the computer, then at the microphone. Something was churning in there.

“Pull up _Video Killed the Radio Star_ and have it ready to play. How many seconds do I have?”

“Fifteen.”

Richie had this glint in his eye, and Eddie felt strangely at ease.

“Give me a silent countdown when we hit five seconds,” he told him, pulling the mic closer to him, finger resting over the red button. Eddie nodded. He held up his hand, all five fingers up.

Five, four, three, two…

Richie pressed the button, giving a second before speaking calmly into the mic.

“Hello night owls of North Derry University. My name is Trashmouth, and I’m your new host for the late night hours.” Eddie arched a brow at him. “I’m here with my compadre Eddie Spaghetti, who will be laying down all the sick tracks tonight, so I encourage you to call in with any requests you may have. Tonight’s theme is eighties hits, and we’re gonna start off the night strong with a bit of irony with _Video Killed the Radio Star_. Thanks for tuning in.” Richie gave Eddie the thumbs up to play the song, and double pressed his microphone button so that they could talk again.

Eddie had been more focused on Richie’s pink lips while he talked more than he cared to admit, but the guy was so smooth and confident with his words that Eddie had to be impressed.

“Wow, dude, that was amazing.”

Richie looked like he was also impressed with himself, but in a surprised way.

“Thanks dude,” he said. "Would you want to pick the next song?"

Eddie looked back at the computer and his shoulders deflated. "I wouldn't even know where to start. I mean it's easy to figure out but do we wanna go by year or popularity?" He faced Richie again. "Picking a theme was smart."

"You can't go wrong with eighties music," he agreed. "Why don't we start with 1981 and work our way through the years?"

Eddie enjoyed that suggestion, and got to work finding songs released in 1981, picking one out to queue up next.

This didn't seem so bad.

"So, tell me about yourself, Spaghetti."

Eddie chuckled. This was gonna take time getting used to. "What do you wanna know?"

Richie looked up, pondering for a moment.

"Uh, well. What kind of shitty luck do you have to be stuck here with me?" he asked.

Eddie was surprised by the phrasing of his question. Did Richie really think he was the worst part of this experience? 

"I went to my counselor to see if I could get into some extra curriculars to make me seem more interesting on my resume." _Yes, make it sound like a choice_. "He put me in this resume building program and I just got in at the last minute. It was this, or picking up trash around campus."

"Not much of an environmentalist, are ya, Spaghetti?” Richie asked, almost teasing.

“Have you _met_ the people on this campus? I barely want to be around them, much less their trash. Too many germs.” Eddie winced. College kids were nasty.

“That’s fair. What’s your major?”

Now Eddie was embarrassed again. “Nursing.”

Richie turned dramatically in his chair. “Dude, what the fuck there are like, a million more germs in a hospital!”

Eddie sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s just different. I can’t explain why.”

Richie seemed to search Eddie for more of an explanation, but Eddie really didn’t have one. “Alright, that’s double fair.”

There was a little tension now, but Eddie didn’t know what he expected. Here was this guy, a stranger he was forced into a small room together with, while having to work together. Not exactly a walk in the park. 

Eddie worked on queuing up more songs to fill the silence between Richie’s spoken parts, though he really didn’t know how long those should be. Fifteen, twenty… Thirty minutes?

“What about you?” Eddie finally spoke.

“Huh?”

“What’s your major, Richie?”

“Oh. Communications,” he told him.

“Are you a third year student too?” Eddie wondered.

“Yeah. Feels so close, and yet so far,” admitted Richie.

“I _know_ right? I just want it to end,” Eddie found himself saying, not sure of why.

“Not a big fan of college?” Richie asked.

“Not… I mean, like I love the campus and everything, but I’m just ready to start my life. Get a job and stuff.”

Richie chuckled. “Be a real adult?”

“ _Y_ _es_. Exactly.” Eddie was more bright and confident, now that the glass had shattered. It helped that Richie was funny, and very, very cute.

“Not in those shorts you’re not.”

Maybe not that cute.

“Wow, fuck you okay? These are comfortable.”

Oh, they were going to get along just fine.

_Thank you, PJ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LEAVE ME A COMMENT I THRIVE OFF OF VALIDATION BABEEEEEEY


	6. Step By Step (I Really Think It's Just a Matter of Time)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie tells Bev about New Kid's phone call, and with Richie's encouragement, she goes to find him.
> 
> Much to her surprise, he's more than she ever expected.
> 
> Later, Richie shares a beautiful truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very interesting to write. Very fun, and I hope you all like it.
> 
> I'm glad to say you guys are finally getting to meet Ben.
> 
> Properly.
> 
> Have fun!

Richie knew that he had to contact Bev as soon as physically possible.

Maybe even as soon as metaphysically possible.

He had Eddie text her to see if she was awake last night during the broadcast, but she never answered, so Richie would have to wait until morning.

That didn’t stop him from buzzing with excitement the entire way home.

When he woke up the next morning he didn’t even wait; his phone was already in hand and he had her number dialed. He hopped around his side of the dorm, bouncing along with each ring, like a long haired bunny.

“Richie? You okay?” Bev sounded groggy, like she just woke up.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Listen, Bevvy, did you listen to the radio show last night?” he asked.

“No, honey, I’m sorry. Rehearsal kicked my ass and I went to bed as soon as I got home.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry, I’m not upset. But you missed something pretty interesting last night.”

“Oh?” Bev was intrigued. “Did you profess your love to Eddie on air?”

Richie stopped mid bounce. “That’s not even funny, Bev.”

“Jeez, tough crowd.”

Richie felt his shoulders droop. He shouldn’t snap at her. He might have been jealous, but he was still happy for her. 

Eddie was a situation that he could deal with in his own time.

Even if Eddie couldn’t like him back. He would hope that Eddie could still be comfortable with him enough to still be friends.

Because he _liked_ Eddie. But he also liked Eddie. And enjoyed his company. Romantic feelings or not. There was just… something there, that he never saw in a person before.

“You had a gentleman caller.”

There was a rustle on the other end of the line, like she dropped it. “Wait, what? A dude called about me?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m like… ninety-nine percent sure. He mentioned your hair, and when I asked him for more detail, he mentioned our friendship bracelet,” he told her. She gasped.

“No fucking way.”

“ _Way_. He said he worked in the library and that you saw him singing New Kids on the Block.”

The line was quiet now, and Richie wondered if Bev actually remembered the guy. “What else did he say… about me?” she asked, in a voice softer than Richie had ever heard.

“He said your hair was winter fire… January embers. And that you had a cute laugh,” Richie told her. The words felt strange on his tongue, like they were way too poetic for his type. She was strangely quiet again.

“Bev? You alive over there?”

“What? Yeah, I’m alive.”

“Good, ‘cause it sounded like I took your breath away there for a second.”

“Beep beep Richie.”

Bev almost never used their code for when Richie was being bothersome, so this was serious. What was she feeling right now?

Richie waited for her to say something, anything.

“Did… did he give you a name?” she finally asked.

“No, he just called himself the New Kid. Why, are you thinking about finding him?”

“Should I, Richie?”

He could have told her no, that it was crazy and he could be a weirdo.

But he knew better. The guy had an honest voice and it was Bev’s turn to be happy again. He couldn’t keep her from what was at the very least a chance at that.

“Yeah, dude. I think you should. I’m no expert but I think he seems nice… if he’s not a serial killer.”

“ _Richie_.”

“Okay, okay.” A sad-ish smile tugged up his lips. “Go for it, Bev. You deserve to be happy.”

Bev tsked. “Richie, you’re an angel, you know that?”

“That’s a weird way of saying I’m a rat in ugly ass shirts. But I’ll take it.”

“Richie…”

“I know. Beep beep.”

Richie sat on his bed and moved his phone from his ear, looking at himself in the reflection of his dark screen. Maybe he was hard on himself.

Seriously, though, what could Eddie possibly see in him? Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier?

“Do you want to meet up for lunch?” Bev asked, but Richie couldn’t make out what she said because the phone was away from his ear.

He raised the phone back up to the side of his face. “What was that, hun?”

“You wanna meet up for lunch?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you after class.”

“I’ll see you later. I love you, Rich.”

Richie stared at his wall, feeling something stirring in his gut. It was a sad, swirling something, and it made every fiber in Richie’s body feel like ice.

_Stop that, sad sack. Bev is your best friend and she loves you._

Yeah, yeah.

“I love you too, Bev.”

Defrosting was a just as weird sensation, but it felt better than whatever that other feeling was, and he was grateful for that right now.

Winter fire, huh?

  
  
  


Beverly Marsh loved the library.

She loved to read, and the smell of books. The fact that she found herself not reading outside of her scripts or school books for months at a time was very disheartening.

So she went to the campus library last week. And as she found herself traveling through the vast expanse of bookshelves, she saw a pretty tall guy with a page cart putting away books, jamming out to whatever was playing on his black headphones.

“ _Step by step, oh, baby, gonna get to you, girl. Step by step, oh, baby, really want you in my world._ ”

The guy mumble sang to himself, and Bev sort of stared at him. Well, there wasn’t a sort of about it. She stopped in her tracks, her nimble fingers perched on a spine of some random biography.

The guy was cute, especially as he sang. He threw his head back and danced, mumbling the words. His red flannel flapped around his gray shirt and his feet made quiet shuffles against the carpet.

_“Step by step, oh, baby, you're always on my mind. Step by step, oh, girl, I really think it's just a matter of time”_

This was just too cute. Beverly giggled, and continued to watch the page guy reach over to grab another book, only he managed to glance past his cart to see Beverly watching him. He stumbled back a little, frightened by the sudden realization that someone was watching him for God knows how long. His headphones fell off his ears and managed to catch on his neck.

Beverly couldn’t help it: she laughed. An honest to goodness belly laugh. Not to make fun of him. Just because the whole action reminded her of an old sitcom or cartoon. It was so extra, and yet it was a real thing, happening right in front of her.

The guy blushed right down to his goatee. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” Her smile was achingly large. “Rock on,” she said, holding up devil horns. 

He mimicked her, his own smile breaking across his red face. “T-thank you.”

She giggled. “See you around, Donnie.”

“That’s not my- _oh_. Um, please don’t go girl!” he exclaimed, another name of a New Kids song. She understood his reference and smiled, but he smacked his own forehead anyway.

She waved goodbye and walked down to another section of the library. Her heart flitted strangely, and she looked back to see if maybe the guy had followed her. Guys tended to do that, much to her dismay, but he was nowhere to be seen.

She didn’t know whether to be sad, or grateful.

  
  


After Richie called her and told her about the guy that called about her on the radio, she _absolutely_ knew who she was talking about.

Which is why she was back in the library, strolling almost casually through the shelves, but she knew what she was doing. She was on a mission.

Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would be trying to find a guy in the stacks of books like a thirsty person in the desert looking for a cactus.

What if he wasn’t even working?

Great, now Beverly felt like a creep. A thirsty creep.

_Richie, why did you let me think this was a good idea?_

She rounded the corner and out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of blue flannel and cart a couple aisles down. Was that him?

She crept down the shelf side quietly, until she could get a good look. She saw black headphones and a patch of facial hair from her distance. How many people wore black headphones in a library that actually worked there?

He was humming this time instead of singing, and Bev wondered if she scared him into not jamming out anymore. That thought pulled at her stomach.

Instead of just sneaking up on him, she decided to do what any normal person would do.

She reached out to the nearest shelf and pulled down a bunch of books.

The noise was enough to startle the guy and get him to look over. He first looked down at the books, almost hurt, then back up at Bev.

"Oh. Whoops."

The guy pulled his headphones down to his neck and frowned. "You know there's plenty of other ways to get someone's attention than hurting the poor books."

 _Hurting the books_. Bev liked that mentality.

She swooped down and tried to fix her blunder. "Right. No. I'm so sorry," she apologized, picking up a couple and staring at their spines for the decimal number.

He rushed over to help her, grabbing a couple for himself and putting them in order. "Here, I got those," he told her, and held out a hand to grab her stack. She handed them over and they finally met eyes.

Ocean water met the sand.

Bev's fingertips tingled. What the _fuck_.

The guy's eyes finally grew in recognition. "I-It's _you_."

Eloquent.

"Yeah, it's me. I heard you were looking for me." That made him blush. "Or, rather, a girl with hair like winter fire. Is that really me?"

He nodded, turning crimson.

"A friend told me about your call. I'm sorry I wasn't able to listen to it in person," she said, rising from the floor. He stood up too, with the books now held close to his chest.

"That's okay," he said. "I figured it would be a long shot anyway."

"Not long enough because, look! I'm here!" Her grin was positively radiating. "I just didn't think I was that impressionable."

The guy scoffed. "Yeah, right, you're absolutely beautiful." His mouth snapped shut as he realized what he said.

Now it was Beverly's turn to blush.

"I can't pretend like I've never heard that before," she admitted with pink cheeks. "But winter fire? January embers? _That's_ beautiful."

The guy scratched at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Beautiful words for a beautiful girl."

Bev felt like she could fall into the floor. Who _was_ this guy?

"Alright Casanova. What's your name? Your _real_ one?"

"Ben. Hanscom. Ben Hanscom."

 _Ben_.

"Nice to meet you, Ben. I'm Beverly Marsh. Or just Bev."

"Likewise, uh… Bev."

He was just too cute.

"So is this the part where you ask me on a date?" she asked him bluntly.

He seemed taken aback by her straightforwardness. "Oh, I mean. Yes? If you want that."

Surprisingly, she still did. Richie was right. He seemed nice enough.

"I'll meet you in front of King's Coffee tomorrow at 7?"

"Works for me."

Bev felt a warmth radiate from her chest down to her toes.

Was a _boy_ really making her feel this way?

"Hang tough, New Kid. See you tomorrow," she said, waving goodbye.

He waved back, speechless, and she turned around, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

Wait til Richie heard this one.

  
  


It was ten minutes to seven, and Beverly Marsh felt nervous for the first time in five years.

She leaned against the brick wall of the cafe, trying to keep herself from pulling at her dress.

Boys used to make her nervous. Very nervous, until her dad was taken away and she was able to live a life of her own again. Living with her aunt down in Florida until she graduated high school was such a welcome change, but she didn't like to be under what she called the "desirable" gaze of boys her age. It made her want to itch at her skin until she could peel it off, like layers of an onion.

A fleshy, traumatized onion.

Her aunt had her go to therapy a couple times, but she never felt comfortable then. It always felt like her dad could pop up any moment, to scream in her face, call her a liar, anything to get her to shut the fuck up.

So when her other aunt suggested for Bev to move up to Maine and live with her, to get out of the state she felt the worst in, she jumped at the chance. She applied to several schools, but in the end North Derry University won her over.

Then she met Richie and Stan.

And for the first time, boys didn't scare her so much.

And then she met Bill.

And she had her first real kiss.

Boys weren't so bad after all.

There was always something missing between her and Bill, like he wasn't always there. And he never wrote her anything as poetic as Ben.

He didn't even like poetry.

So when she dumped him, she expected some sort of trouble. Anything that would put her in that bad place again.

But there wasn’t. Bill was still her friend.

And boys still weren’t bad.

She hoped that with Ben, at the very least if they didn’t click, that he would be respectful and give her space.

If he didn’t… well…

She knew three… four boys now that would fix that.

Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

Her phone buzzed with a new text from Richie.

 **Tozier:** _hey. how u feelin?_

 **Me:** _Like I’m about to shit my pants._

 **Tozier:** _ooo, scat play_

 **Me:** _You’re fucking disgusting Rich._

 **Tozier:** _always, babey :*_

 **Me:** _Beep Beep_

 **Tozier:** _you’re gonna be fine honey._

Woah. No lazy texting. Richie was in Serious Mode.

**Me:** _What if he doesn’t like me? :/_

 **Tozier:** _1\. you’re actually worried that he won’t like you?_

 **Tozier:** _2\. are you fucking nuts?_

 **Me:** _Geez. I mean a little. The guy is cute and down to earth._

 **Me:** _What if he thinks that all I am is a pretty face?_

 **Tozier:** _what is that talk? are you watching romcoms before bed again?_

 **Me:** _:3 You can’t prove anything._

 **Tozier:** _Jesus Hozier Christ_

 **Tozier:** _Bev. Platonic Love of my Life._

 **Tozier:** _don’t be stupid_

 **Me:** _RICHIE_

 **Tozier:** _listen to me. right now. you’re amazing._

 **Tozier:** _any guy would be crazy not to see you and think anything less._

 **Me:** _;-;_

 **Tozier:** _exactly. now go, be a bad bitch. get yo mans_

 **Me:** _Okay. Promise me something?_

 **Tozier:** _of course_

 **Me:** _You don’t have to do it now_

 **Me:** _But promise me you’ll tell Eddie how you feel?_

There wasn’t a split second answer.

Maybe she picked the wrong time.

She just wanted her friend to be brave.

His heart was big enough.

**Tozier:** _of course. when he’s had some time to heal_

 **Tozier:** _one step at a time._

 **Me:** _You’re a saint, Richie._

 **Tozier:** _this night is about you, bev._

 **Tozier:** _fly, my baby bird._

 **Me:** _Good night, Richie._

“That must be some conversation.”

Bev looked up to see Ben standing over her, holding a bouquet of daisies in front of his chest.

“Oh, that was just my friend, checking up on me,” she said casually.

“Really? But the date hasn’t even started yet!” Ben exclaimed, a little baffed. He held out the flowers. “These are for you.”

She took them gingerly. They smelled fresh, and earthly, like they were just plucked from the ground.

“These are wonderful.” Beverly never actually got flowers before. That was something she had only read about, or seen in movies.

Maybe that made her sound like some manic pixie girl, but it was the truth. Who still gave people flowers?

“I’m curious, why daisies?”

Ben stared hard at the ground. “There was a hand stitched daisy on your overalls. The ones you wore last week when you caught me in my jams.”

Bev was absolutely flabbergasted. In the best way possible.

“You really pay attention, huh?” she asked, trying to keep cool.

“Only to the people I like,” he told her, now gazing up at her.

Smooth. Peanut butter smooth.

“Are you sure you’re not a serial killer?”

Chunky.

What the fuck, Beverly?

That made Ben laugh, thankfully. “I don’t know. Ask the bodies I stuffed in my closet.”

Oh, Richie would cream his pants right now.

Stan would probably pop a boner too, who knows?

“Great music taste _and_ a sense of humor? Why do you hide in a library?”

“For the greater good of the world, I suppose.”

Oh.

She was gonna keep him around as long as she could.

“Well, let’s show you off to the world, huh?” She stepped away from the wall and stepped around him, leading away from Kings. “We can start with

Thailand.”

“Thailand? Isn’t that a bit far?” he asked her, starting to follow along.

“Or that Thai place down the street. Same thing.”

He chuckled. “I’ve never actually been there.”

“What? It’s amazing! It’s probably my favorite place on campus,” she admitted, flouncing on down the sidewalk. It was a short walk, but long enough for small talk.

“Well then lead the way, miss.”

Bev started walking, and Ben first walked behind her, but slowly caught up to her side.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

Ben looked down at his dad bod stomach. “You know, I might only have a salad.”  
Beverly snorted. “You’re on a roll.”

“Oh, I’m built with several.”

They continued down the street, walking side by side. Bev had a small purse slung across her chest hanging on her left side and held her flowers there, leaving her right hand free. Ben kept his hands in his pockets, but she couldn’t help but notice that he kept looking down at her free hand.

“Is there something wrong with my hand?”

Ben’s eyes widened. He had been caught.

“No no no no. I’m just. Um.” He kept his gaze pointed forward. “I want to hold your hand.”

Sweet baby Jesus.

Bev’s blush reached to the roots of her fiery hair.

“You… you can ask?” she told him.

Ben snapped out of his gaze and looked back at Bev quicker than a sprinkler at the end of its spray. “I can?”

She nodded.

He pulled his left hand out his pocket and held it out to her. “May I hold your hand, Bev?”

She clasped her hand in his, sliding her fingers between his own.

“Absolutely.”

  
  


Dinner was fantastic, and after two hours of honest conversation and laughter, she couldn’t even feel her face.

She learned a lot about Ben. He was an architecture major, which surprised her a little, until he showed her a tree house he built with his dad. It was the coolest thing she ever saw.

He told her about his dog, and his parents. He was from Boston, but unlike everyone in Boston, he wasn’t obsessed with the Red Soxs.

She told him about her aunts, and what got her into acting. She also told him a little about her life in Florida, excluding the part about her dad.

That wasn’t really a first date conversation.

After dinner, he walked her back to King’s, where her car was parked behind the building. The sky was dark and the sidewalk was illuminated by the streetlights. They held hands the entire way, and Beverly never felt warmer, even with the cool fall air whipping at the skirt of her dress.

“I guess this is where I leave you, huh?”

Beverly stopped under the nearest lamp, fully illuminated.

Ben studied her like someone would study a painting, intensely, but his eyes were full of something Beverly never saw before.

Admiration?

No.

Different.

Softer.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

In fairness, Bev didn’t want to leave. She didn’t think Ben wanted to either.

This was a good day for new feelings.

“Do I get another date?” he asked her. He smiled, almost mischievously, like he already knew the answer.

Beverly liked that confidence.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she repeated, this time with a sly grin. “Only if I can get your number.”

“Oh. _Oh_ , right.” He scrambled to grab his phone from his pocket. “Here,” he said, giving her his unlocked phone.

She made her contact, then sent herself a message. Her own phone buzzed, so it went through. Great. All good.

This was so high school.

She gave him back his phone. “All set.”

_All set? Really? Jesus._

“How soon can we plan our next date?” He asked, shoving his phone in his back pocket.

“I still have a few minutes.”

“Good. Uh, are you busy on Saturday?”

“I have rehearsal, but I can do an early breakfast or a late dinner,” she told him.

“There’s a bakery, we could get some breakfast?”

“That sounds… really nice.” She found it hard to keep eye contact. Not because she was still nervous, but her eyes found a new place.

A nice pair of lips.

“Good. It’s a date.” He finally noticed her staring. “Is there something in my mustache?” He rubbed at his facial hair, trying to knock whatever Bev saw loose.

“No, I was just, um. I normally don’t-”

He eyed her curiously.

Why was she stuttering? She was an _actress_ , for god’s sake.

“I want to kiss you.”

There it was.

He stepped closer, closing the bit of distance between them.

“You know. You can ask.”

Oh, son of bitch.

She craned her neck to look up at him. How was someone so adorable, and so sexy at the same time?

“Can I kiss you?”

Ben smiled. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Bev found her hand on his shoulder, easing up to his neck. She cupped his jaw and brought him down, until their lips met.

That tingle was back, now spread over her entire body.

It was electric. Boogie woogie woogie.

They broke apart, reluctantly. Very reluctantly.

“I don’t normally kiss on the first date,” admitted Bev softly.

“Oh, well I normally don’t kiss on the first date either. Looks like we’re even now.”

Bev started laughing. How was this real?

“Touche.”

It was time to go. They both knew it.

But did they have to?

“Text me when you get home, okay?”

“I will. Good night Ben.”

  
  


**Tozier:** _??? so??? how did it go??_

 **Me:** _Best. First. Date. Ever._

  
  


* * *

Something strange happened.

After Ben called with his missed connection, Richie and Eddie found themselves getting more late night calls with people calling about their missed connections, or others asking for relationship advice.

It happened so often that Richie had what he now called “Trashmouth’s Love Doctor Hour.”

Tonight, for instance, he had a call on the line from a girl asking him for advice on how to tell her friend that she had a crush on them.

“She’s just, the sweetest person in the world, Richie. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before,” she said, her voice full of admiration.

“Well caller, um, can I call you something other than caller?”

“Jessica.”

“Well, Jessica. It sounds like you have enough of a reason to tell her,” he told her bluntly, but in a kind-hearted way.

“I just... don’t know if she would like me back. You know what I mean?”

Richie dared to look at Eddie from the corner of his eye, who was busy queuing up music. “I know what you mean Jessica.”

“I don’t even know if she’s attracted to women. _I_ didn’t even know I was attracted to women.”

Richie sighed. “You can’t worry about someone’s possible attraction to whatever gender. People are more likely to love someone they didn’t think they could be attracted to when there’s no focus on it. More men would love men, women would love other women, or trans people or nonbinary… whatever. If you see people as just… people, it’s a lot easier to find yourself in love. With someone you either didn’t think you would, or someone you liked all along, but you were just scared to before.”

“I guess I understand,” Jessica replied.

“It’s normal to be scared. Not everyone is going to think this way. Not everyone is so open. I might be biased because I’m bisexual-” Eddie now watched him, expression still neutral. “But if you like her, and you think that she’ll still be your friend no matter how she can feel, I think you’ll be okay.”

“Thank you Trashmouth.”

“Remember, no matter what happens, there’s nothing wrong with how you feel. You got that, Jessica?”

“Totally. Have a good night Trashmouth.”

The call ended and Eddie played some Hayley Kiyoko.

 _Jesus Eddie_ . _Are you trying to be funny?_

“That was really beautiful, Richie.”

Richie was pulled out of his thoughts. “Huh?”

“What you said. People should be more open to just… loving. And not caring who the person is, or what the person is,” he continued.

“That’s not beautiful. That’s just the truth.”

“It’s a beautiful truth.”

If only Eddie knew Richie’s truth.

“Thanks, Spaghetti.”

Eddie smiled at him, and Richie felt that familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach.

A beautiful truth indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S EVERYONE. YAY.
> 
> Now time to plan the Loser's Club shenanigans you've all been waiting for.
> 
> Comment to give me that sweet validation babeeeey.


	7. What A Waste of Blood and Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bev shares her past with Ben, who then invites her out for a Halloween party. The invitation is extended to Richie and Eddie, who join in the fun and dress up.
> 
> Unfortunately, the fun doesn't last, and Mike shares a heart to heart with Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I took a break for a few weeks* to wind down from all the adjustments at my job. I live in the States and working in nursing and they're having us wear masks and everything, it's a lot.
> 
> A few of my residents died as well over the last few weeks and most recently someone that was like a second grandfather to me passed yesterday so I needed some time or I would have posted on Thursday like I've been trying to most weeks. 
> 
> *Also, my computer charger conked out so what was originally a week turned into 3. Whoops
> 
> This chapter is a big one, and I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> *WARNING: MINOR PHYSICAL VIOLENCE AND HOMOPHOBIC LANGUAGE IS DEPICTED IN THIS CHAPTER*
> 
> Songs:
> 
> Chapter title is from "Could Have Been Me" by The Struts
> 
> Song featured in the chapter is "Shout pts 1 & 2" by the Isley Brothers

Beverly and Ben spent a lot of time together after that.

As much time as their schedules could allow.

She was having a hard time bringing up her trauma in conversation to Ben.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell him, she wasn’t like that. But she felt very whole around him, and she didn’t want to suddenly shatter.

She was anything but a porcelain doll.

So why did she suddenly feel like one?

They were meeting for lunch between classes at a little sandwich shop near the medical school building, which was planned a few days ago, but class went a little longer today, which had Bev running a little late.

Fortunately, Ben was very understanding, and offered to order her lunch after she texted him to let him know, so she sent him her order and sat through the rest of her lecture, tapping her foot impatiently.

Once her professor let them go, she rushed out of the lecture hall, not quite running but still moving with a purpose, until she was out of her building and on the street.

**Me:** _Hey I’m walking up now_

 **Ben <3:** _I just sat down with our order_

Bev smiled down at her phone. _Our._

It seemed so soon. And yet…

Bev wanted to hear Ben say _our_ more often.

She entered Paper Boat Sandwiches and scanned the small row of booths until she spotted him in the second to last booth. It was surprisingly empty for a Thursday afternoon, but that worked out in their favor.

Having someone overhear the stuff about her dad would not be good.

Even though he was locked away.

And he couldn’t hurt her anymore.

But having someone know something that could crack her, break her down to the smallest part of herself, was still so terrifying.

But her therapist assured her that sharing that information would do more good for her than being unable to open up.

Ben was someone she wanted to be very open with, even though their time together had been very short so far. He was just so safe, and warm in personality. A different type of considerate.

She hated to compare him to Bill. Bill Denbrough was never a bad boyfriend. He was just… different. Distant, quieter. More focused on writing. But never a bad boyfriend.

Ben… Ben was louder, boisterous. He could laugh until tears spilled from his eyes, and talk for hours. She spent four hours on the phone with him, playing twenty questions, and even though it was silly on paper, Bev never felt happier learning about someone.

So she hoped that when he learned this about her, that he would still want to continue to learn about her, past this dark, jagged part of her.

He stood up to greet her, pulled her into a hug, and kissed her cheek. “Hi there.”

“Hi.”

They sat across from each other, Bev’s sandwich already in front of her. But she suddenly wasn't very hungry.

Ben obviously waited for her to arrive but now was digging into his own sandwich, and was a couple bites in before he noticed that she wasn't eating.

"Bev? You okay?" He looked down at her sandwich and pointed at it. "Is that too cold?"

She didn't touch her sandwich to find out, but she shook her head anyway. "No it's fine."

Ben put down his food and wiped his hands before offering them in front of her. She placed her palms in his before sliding her fingers into his, which he held gently, curling them together.

"Bev," he said again, soft and assuring. "You can tell me anything. You know that right?"

She knew, but it still seemed unbelievable.

She nodded her head, her eyes finding a spot on the wall to her right. Normally, eye contact was never a problem for her.

He rubbed the sides of her hands with his thumbs in small, comforting motions.

"Take your time, Bev. It's okay."

That broke her.

Tears welled up in her clear blue eyes, spilling over like wine in a knocked over glass.

Ben's own eyes widened in slight panic, but for his credit, he didn't completely freak out.

Bev cried silently. She learned how to do that very early. Never let them know you're crying, it would only make it worse.

Ben broke away one of his hands to reach toward her face. He watched her recoil slightly, and he lowered it.

"Can I touch you?" he asked.

She looked at his hand with blurry eyes. He wasn't going to hurt her. Ben had soft, albeit calloused hands.

Ben had safe hands.

She nodded again, and Ben held the side of her face, gently wiping away her tears.

"There there. You're going to be okay."

She managed a small chuckle, which made him smile.

She took a breathy sigh. "I haven't been completely honest with you?"

It came out sounding like a question.

Ben took her other hand back and squeezed it. "Okay."

There was no anger, or sadness.

It was inviting her to continue.

"I… I haven't told you everything about my past."

Ben still looked at her without surprise or betrayal.

"That's okay. Do you want to tell me now?"

Bev managed a steady gaze. "Yeah, I think it's important for you to know, if we move forward. Not that.. I assume you want to… right now, at this moment."

Ben chuckled. "I'm gonna leave that alone right now. You've got something to tell me that's more important."

So she told him. Without most of the gruesome details, she told Ben about her dad, and why she was really at North Derry instead of some college in Florida. He listened intently, visibly horrified, but he still held her hands comfortingly. It couldn't have been easy, opening up about something so traumatic.

She told him about Richie and Stan, how they were her first real friends, and about Bill being her first boyfriend. Navigating socially was still hard for her, but-

"I really want to keep going, with you," she told him conclusively. "If you're still interested."

Ben smiled sweetly at her. "Why would I not be interested?" She opened her mouth to speak. " _Don't_ answer that."

She found herself grinning too. That wasn't easy, but she did it. And Ben wasn't scared of her or her past.

"I mean, I was already planning this today. I know it's kind of soon…" he trailed off, shifting his eyes between her and the wall nervously. He swallowed and set his gaze straight on her, determined.

"Beverly Marsh. I like you a lot. And I know you just told me something very serious about your past. But it doesn't change how I feel about you. In fact, I want to be around as long as I can, to make sure you're never hurt again."

His words settled like dust in her brain, and her eyebrows raised as she realized what he was trying to say.

"Ben… are you asking-?"

"You to be my girlfriend? Absolutely."

 _Don't fucking cry again_.

"Ben Hanscom. I would love to be your girlfriend."

" _Yes!_ " He pumped his fist in the air and Bev laughed. What a dork.

 _Her_ dork.

"Well now that all that trauma sharing is over, I finally have an appetite," she said, grabbing her sandwich.

"Do you want me to ask them to warm it back up?"

She shook her head. "I'm okay. Thank you… _boyfriend._ "

Ben could put a cheese store to shame. "You're welcome, _girlfriend_."

They ate in silence for a little bit, before Ben was reminded of what else he wanted to ask her.

"So Halloween is next weekend," he started, prompting her to look up. "There's a bar that usually does karaoke here on Saturdays but they're hosting a costume party contest thing. Would you want to go?"

She thought to her mental calendar. Saturday was usually a longer rehearsal day, but their day was usually over by late afternoon, so she could definitely do something in the evening.

“I can do that. One stipulation,” she said, raising a finger to punctuate her point.

“Sure.”

Her mischievous smile would make Richie jealous. “I get to pick our costumes.”

  
  


Richie and Eddie sat in the studio, pretty bored. Eddie was even working on some sort of math homework.

No one was calling, so they tried to make the night go faster by playing more upbeat, random songs that they never got the chance to play, but they just weren’t feeling it.

They were both just sort of drained. Midterms just happened, and despite their collective efforts, the lack of sleep was also getting to them.

Richie was also waiting for a good time to bring up the Halloween party that Bev had invited him to yesterday. Apparently, Ben invited Bev, and extended it to Richie and Stan, and “Richie’s co-host. I’d love to meet the guy behind the music.”

It was a very sweet invitation, considering Richie had no plans really, outside of the radio show. It was a little last minute to try and find a full made costume, but Richie was good at improvising, and had several ideas he could work with. That, and a shared Amazon Prime account with Stan.

Speaking of Stan, he politely declined, saying that he needed the time to recuperate from midterms. But he encouraged Richie to ask Eddie.

“You guys need some alone time outside of the studio. Spend time together outside of forced isolation,” he told Richie before he had to leave for the studio.

“It’s not _forced_ ,” Richie scoffed. Stan raised his eyebrow at him. “Not forced anymore.”

"Still, you never ask him to hang out or get food or anything outside of the radio show. How is he supposed to know you’re interested?”

“He’s not.”

“ _Richie._ ”

“Look Stan,” Richie went and sat at the unoccupied end of Stan’s bed. “I really like the guy. I do. I can admit that as freely as I can to you and Bev. But the guy is clearly in need of a lot of healing, and I don’t want to derail him from that. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Stan sat up, crossing his legs. “But you know healing like that is a lifelong process. Look at Bev! She’s not stopping her therapy just because she has Ben in her life. And something tells me that Eddie wouldn’t either.”

“I know Stan. It just… still feels selfish. _Oh, let me encourage you to heal so I just ask you out!_ Even though I don’t even know if you like guys.”

Richie chose to ignore Stan’s eye roll at that last comment.

“But you didn’t encourage him to heal just because you wanted to ask him out. You did that because you saw a hurt and traumatized person, and you wanted him to know that there are healthy ways to cope with what life handed to him.” Stan’s eyes were steely, but warm. “You can be an asshole sometimes, Rich, but you’re an asshole with a shit ton of empathy and love. And you deserve to be happy too.”

Richie felt the familiar sting of tears and blinked them away.

“Dude. Stop being so gay.”

Stan shoved him lightly. “Yeah, okay. Whatever Trashmouth.”

Richie laughed. “Alright. I’ll ask him. Happy?”

“Extremely,” Stan deadpanned. “Go get him, tiger.”

“Ew. Never call me tiger again, weirdo.”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

So Richie was waiting for a time, not that there was really a bad time right now. Eddie was just about finished with his homework.

“Hey Spaghetti.”

Eddie looked up from his notebook with tired eyes. “Yeah, Richie?”

“Guess what next week is?”

Eddie stared hard at the wall. “Uh. I don’t even know. More tests?”

Richie groaned. “God I hope the fuck not.”

“Then what ‘cause I have no idea.”

“Next week is Halloween.”

That caught Eddie’s attention. “Holy shit you’re right. It’s on Saturday. How could I forget about Halloween?”

“Because the childhood wonder is dead and gone and now it’s just an excuse to get drunk and dress up,” said Richie matter-of-factly.

Eddie raised his eyebrows.

“Sorry, I meant to say, because the days have just blurred together since midterms?”

Eddie nodded. “That’s better. We work don’t we?”

“Yeah but only til midnight. Did you have plans?”

The look Eddie gave Richie told him everything, but he spoke anyway. “No, I don’t. I was just going to sleep in.”

_Maybe asking him is a bad idea._

“Oh, well, I was just gonna ask… but if you need to catch up on sleep…” Richie avoided Eddie’s eyes, trailing off.

“You can still ask, Richie.”

“Well, Bev, she got invited to a costume party at one of the bars here by Ben, and he told her to invite us.”

“Us? You mean you and Stan?”

“No, he invited you too. He told Bev that he wanted to meet ‘the man behind the music’ of our show.”

Now Eddie was intrigued and blushing slightly. “That’s really nice of him.”

“Yeah, he seems like a really sweet guy.”

That was Richie being honest. Bev was very open about her progress with Ben and the way he treated her, and so far she had no complaints, so Richie had none, either.

“You said it was a costume party, right?” he asked, and Richie nodded. “Geez, that’s a little last minute don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure you could throw something together. That is, if you want to go.”

“Sure. I’ll go.”

Richie blinked. “Wait, really? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, why not?” Eddie shrugged. “I’ve never been to a party before.”

_Oh you sweet summer boy._

“You’ll have a lot of fun. I will make it my personal duty to make sure of it.”

“That’s sweet, Richie, but don’t feel like you have to stick around me all night....”

“Are you kidding? Who else would I rather be around? A bunch of drunk strangers?” Richie reached over and rustled Eddie’s hair. “You’re my other half, Eddie.”

There was a moment where they both froze, and the reality of Richie’s words set in, prompting Richie to cough and Eddie to flush a deep pink.

“Of the show I mean-”

“Yeah I knew what you meant-”

They stammered simultaneously, not really saving anything from shared embarrassment.

They both shifted their eyes awkwardly until they made contact again, before laughing at themselves.

“Hey, hey… if you’re Spaghetti, that means I’m Meatballs, huh?” Richie asked, giggling.

“Meatballs Tozier… Sounds about right,” Eddie teased, pushing Richie’s chair away. Richie’s mouth dropped open.

“Oh really? I’m gonna sauce you up now, Spaghetti Man,” he said, pulling himself closer with the help of the desk, managing to grab Eddie by the shoulders and rocking him a little.

Eddie let out a small shriek. “AH, Richie, quit it!”

“Gotta toss ya and sauce ya, Eddie.”

Eddie retaliated by grabbing onto Richie’s forearms and tried to toss him around right back, but Richie definitely had the advantage of longer arms and upper body strength. Still, they both held on, coming to a standstill, just pushing against each other instead with all their strength.

Richie thought he had the upper hand, until Eddie’s face fell under the fluorescent light just right, illuminating his brown eyes.

They were a beautiful dark amber, like the glass of whiskey his dad had poured for him the night of his graduation.

Oh. Oh _fuck._

Eddie took Richie’s falter to his advantage and shoved the other boy until he fell out of his chair. “Ha! Who’s sauced now, Meatballs?”

Richie. Richie was completely, and utterly, lost in the sauce.

* * *

Putting together a costume in a week was not at all a hard task for Richie, once he decided who he wanted to be. He had most of the stuff he needed in his own closet, aside from the necklace that his character wore, but that was easily purchased on Prime. He tried to get Bev to spill the beans on her own costume, but her lips were sealed. The only hint she gave was that it was movie themed, which told Richie absolutely nothing. Bev had probably seen every movie on Earth, so the possibilities were endless. Naturally, once she said her costume was a secret, he hid his own from her, as it was fair game.

Basic friendship rule.

Bev was very excited, however, when Richie told her that Eddie agreed to come.

“Richie that’s great! I’m so glad he’s coming.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Bev tilted her head at Richie’s lack of enthusiasm. “Honey what’s wrong? You don’t sound that excited.”

Richie sighed. “I am. It’s just… you don’t think it’s weird, that the first thing I invite him to outside of the radio station is a party? Like that’s not too much?”

“I mean, think of it this way: it’s not as intimate as a one-on-one hang out, and you two get to be casual and have fun. It’s a pressure-free situation.”

Bev was right, as usual. If she was any more logical, he would call her Spock.

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right, I gotta stop overthinking this.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I also want him to be able to have fun, without me, ya know? He’s never been to a party before. I want him to have a good experience.”

Bev gave Richie’s arm a gentle pat. “He _will_. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Little did they both know that for the first time, Beverly Marsh would be completely wrong.

  
  


“That’s it for us here at the studio, night owls. Hope your Halloween has been a little more groovy with Trashmouth and Spaghetti on your radios, but now it’s time for us to party. Good night, North Derry.”

Richie finished his sign off and Eddie played _Monster Mash_ as their closing song. Richie shut down his mic and stood, stretching out his back. They both brought their costumes in bags, since it seemed kind stupid to sit in their costumes for four hours with no one else to see them.

“You want the bathroom, Eddie?” Richie asked him.

“Yeah but where are you gonna change?” Eddie wondered.

Richie motioned with an open hand to the room around them.

“But what if someone sees you? What about the camera?”

Richie didn’t actually believe that there was a camera, despite what Rat Man Jerry claimed.

“They should thank me for the free show,” said Richie with a shrug. Eddie snorted at the taller boy’s confidence.

“Yeah, well they’re not gonna get one from me,” he declared, scrambling to the bathroom. Richie just laughed and opened up his own bag as Eddie shut the door.

Richie didn’t take that long at all to change into his costume. It was barely a costume, really.

He checked his reflection in the now dark computer screen, slicking back the sides of his hair behind his ears with some gel in a tube he borrowed from Stan. It really made his normally undefined waves curl just the way he wanted.

Eddie was still in the bathroom after Richie was done, taking longer than he expected. He knocked gently on the door.

“You okay in there, Spaghetti?”

“Yeah, I just have a million layers,” Eddie told him.

_Layers?_

“Just don’t get stuck,” Richie said, unsure of how else to reply.

Not too long after he said that did the doorknob start to turn and he hurried back over to the desk so Eddie could get a full view of his costume, and vice versa.

Eddie peaked out his head first. “I look pretty fucking stupid.”

Richie rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Get the fuck out here and let me see.”

Eddie retracted his head and opened the door, stepping out for Richie’s full view. They both took a good look at each other.

Richie’s first thought was _oh my god he’s in jorts._

“Holy shit, Richie are you supposed to be Jeff Goldblum?”

Eddie looked over him and his very open shirt incredulously. The taller boy felt his chest hair stand on end.

“It’s Ian Malcom, you pleb.” Richie pried his eyes away from Eddie’s jorts for his own sanity. “Are you… Marty McFly?”

Eddie smiled and spun around, pretty impressed with himself. “Yeah! Isn’t it cool? I found everything at the thrift store.”

 _Even those shorts?_ Richie wondered, totally not checking out Eddie’s ass.

“That’s awesome, dude.”

Dude. Yes. Bro. Man. Fella.

“Thank you. We should hurry, Bev is probably wondering where we’re at.”

Yeah, totally. That’s what Richie should be thinking about.

  
  


The walk to the bar was a short one, even though it felt like a hike otherwise. The movement was welcome though.

Bev met them outside, and caught sight of Eddie’s orange vest before their own faces. She was dressed in an oversized pink shirt and a brown skirt that was tightly belted around her waist, and her usually messy hair was tamed into a more straighter but still flippy look.

“No fucking way!” Richie exclaimed, pulling his friend into a hug. “You’re Molly fucking Ringwald!”

“Her name is Claire,” Eddie told him, nudging him teasingly. “From _The Breakfast Club_.”

“Yeah yeah,” Richie waved his facts away. “Potato, tomato.”

“That’s not how that goes, Richie,” Bev giggled. She pulled Eddie into a hug too, not letting him be left out. “Marty McFly huh? Nice choice. Love the shorts.”

“Thanks. Where’s Ben?” Eddie asked after being released. He was a little surprised that he would leave Bev to stand out here by herself.

Not that she couldn’t take care of herself on her own. But it was just, the gentleman thing to do? He assumed?

“He’s inside getting us shots.”

Eddie stared at her. “Wait, you guys are twenty-one?

“Ben is, I’m not. Richie’s not. But we’ve had fake IDs since we were eighteen,” she informed him. Richie didn’t even think about Eddie not being able to drink.

Eddie frowned. “I don’t have one of those.”

“The party is eighteen plus, but they’ll put an X on your hand.” She dug in her little brown bag that hung over her shoulder. “Fortunately for you, I came prepared,” she said, pulling out a package of makeup wipes and a couple of makeup compacts.

“What is all that?”

“Makeup wipes to remove the sharpie, some setting powder and bronzer. It’ll look like you’ve never been marked.”

Richie loved that his friend was a genius.

“Let’s get in there then,” he said, pulling out his ID. The others followed suit, and they filled inside, stopped by a man in a pirate costume.

“IDs?”

They each showed him their cards that he looked over with a flashlight. He let Richie and Bev pass, but quickly marked the back of Eddie’s hand.

“Have fun.”

They quickly shuffled past a dozen other costumed people til they were able to find an unoccupied corner.

“Hurry, give me your hand,” Bev ordered.

Eddie gave her his hand quickly, and she scrubbed it harder than Eddie had ever scrubbed, to where it almost felt like sandpaper.

“Youch!”

“Oh shush.” She took out her compacts and a small brush and started layering on the powders. It took a minute, but after admiring her handiwork, she held up Eddie’s hand for Richie to see in the dim bar light. “Richie?”

The taller boy slow-clapped. “Brilliant work, Beverly,” he complimented her in a quasi-British voice.

Eddie studied his own hand and gave her an impressed grin. “Wow. Cool.”

She clapped both boys on their backs. “Okay fuckers, let’s go get some shots.”

Ben was apparently at the bar, but if you asked Richie or Eddie to pick him out of this crowd, they would have looked at you like you asked them to defuse a bomb. So naturally they let Bev lead the way.

She ended up walking towards a guy in a white long sleeve undershirt and red flannel. He had long brown hair that reached his shoulders and a jacket tied around his waist. Obviously he was supposed to be Bender.

Lightly tapping his shoulder, Bev got him to turn around, while he held four shots skillfully between his fingers.

“Hey you.”

Ben smiled. “Hey, you.” He kissed her and Richie actually didn’t feel like vomiting from exposure to cuteness.

“Ben, this is Richie and Eddie,” she introduced, motioning to her friends. “Guys, this is Ben.”

Great, Ben was hot.

Eddie normally didn’t think something that forward, but he had fucking eyes. But hot guys were intimidating to be around. Not just because Eddie was-

“Wow, you’re hot.”

“ _Richie!_ ”

“What?? Bev, I think I’m allowed to say that okay? I got you to go after the guy. And I must say, that was a _fantastic_ decision on my part.”

Ben laughed. “You must be Trashmouth then. Thank you, for telling Bev about my call. I really owe you a lot.”

Richie shrugged. “Just name one of your babies after me. I’m not picky.”

Bev looked ready to kill. “ _Beep beep Richie._ ”

That made Ben laugh harder.

“So then you’re Eddie Spaghetti,” he guessed, turning his attention to the other boy.

Hearing someone other than Richie call him Spaghetti made his stomach twist. Sure, Ben was like, Adonis adjacent, but he was no Richie.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, too. You have a great ear for music.”

“Richie helps. With the direction of the music,” he told him, trying to be modest.

“Yeah but I’m sure he doesn’t arrange the blocks of music for you. They really set the tone of the hour, if that makes sense.”

It did, but Eddie certainly wasn’t used to compliments.

“Yeah, no I understand. Thank you.”

Ben finally seemed to realize that he was holding four shots precariously and held out his hands. “Here, everyone grab one.”

They didn’t have to be told twice. They all took a shot, holding them up.

“To Halloween!”

“To Halloween!” They echoed, throwing back their shots, except for Eddie, who was hesitating.

Richie took the index finger of Eddie’s other hand and rubbed his knuckle encouragingly. “It’s okay Eddie. It’s just one.”

Richie’s sudden touch lit a fire inside his stomach. He grimaced, closed his eyes, and threw the shot back.

It was liquid fire, but he swallowed.

“Hell yeah Eddie!”

Bev smiled knowingly, and Ben shot her a look. She glanced down at the finger Richie was still holding, and Ben followed her eyes. He looked at her, his mouth making a silent “ _Oh_.”

“So this place has karaoke huh?” Richie asked, directing his question more so towards Ben, who was actually familiar with the place.

Ben nodded. “Yep. I’m surprised no one is up right now.”

Richie smiled a very evil smile, caught too late by Bev.

“Alright Bennifer, you’re coming with me,” he ordered, pulling Ben away from the bar towards the karaoke station set up in the back corner of the building.

Eddie watched Richie dragging Ben away with a defeated Bev. He would have laughed, but Bev seemed too exasperated to make fun of the situation.

“You okay?” he asked her. She was already trying to get the bartender’s attention.

“Yeah, I just know what Richie’s up to,” she said cryptically.

“Oh?”

She let out a sigh. “He’s gonna make Ben sing something.”

Eddie was puzzled. “Is that like a bad thing?”

“No, Richie’s a good singer. We’ve rocked out at karaoke at another bar a few times. I just don’t want him to intimidate Ben.”

Did she really think that six foot plus Hercules would be intimidated by Richie?

Based on the way she studied the two at the songbook table, the answer was a resounding _yes_.

“Come on, let’s drink.” He waved to the bartender that wasn’t currently busy and they made their way over to them. “Then we can watch all the chaos.”

Bev cracked a smile. Eddie was still full of surprises.

After ordering and receiving their drinks, they turned to each other to continue the conversation.

“Have you talked to Richie yet? About your feelings?”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to sigh.

“No. I just don’t think now is the right time,” he admitted honestly.

Her brow furrowed. “Why do you say that, honey?”

Eddie stirred his little black straw absentmindedly. “I just don’t want to ruin what we already have, plus with the radio station, I just don’t want to mess things up.”

“You think you’re going to mess things up?” she asked, still confused.

“I mean, yeah Bev, look at my history. And who I am. I can’t even…” He observed the melting ice in his blue drink. “I can’t even be true about who I am.”

Beverly grabbed his free hand, holding it tight. “Being true to yourself takes so much fucking courage. I know you know about Richie’s sexuality. It took him _months_ to really accept who he was, and he still hasn’t had the chance to give his heart to someone.”

“But he just seems so confident…”

“That’s because he is… _now._ Can I tell you something that you swear stays between us?”

Eddie nodded.

“Richie didn’t have friends before college.”

There was no fucking way. Richie, the natural people person? Not have _any_ friends?

“I know that comes as a surprise. Believe me, I didn’t think it was true either. But after getting to know him, I could see it. He dimmed himself so other people could shine. He was used to being interrupted or put down by other people. Meeting Stan and I was like a whole new opening up experience for him. We weren’t annoyed with his true self, we never tried to put him down or dull his shine.”

“What about _beep beep Richie_?” he wondered.

“Sometimes he needs to be reeled in. We set that up together. It’s not like a punishment thing. We’re not like that. He wanted to be aware of when he crossed lines because sometimes he just didn’t know, and he just continued talking. He can’t help it, and that’s why we work together as friends. Because we care.”

That made so much sense.

“There’s still a difference between us. He can be true and honest, but even if I said that I was…” He didn’t say it still, in case of eavesdroppers. “My mom would fucking murder me.”

Bev’s mouth settled in an empathetic line. “I understand that. You have to protect yourself. That comes first before anything.”

“Thank you.” He was so glad that she didn’t try to pressure him. Not everyone got to have a positive coming out experience.

He sure as hell knew he wouldn’t get one.

Not unless she was dead.

“I want to tell Richie, Bev. I really do. There’s just a lot stopping me. I don’t want you to ever think I would want to hurt him or anything either.”

“I know you wouldn’t honey,” she said, squeezing tight. “I also want you to know that Richie is the last person you ever have to be afraid of.”

Eddie set his sights across the bar where Richie was about to get on the little platform stage with Ben.

“I don’t think I could ever be afraid of someone with such a beautiful heart.”

Bev could feel her heart swelling.

If only Richie knew.

Maybe if he said something first, Eddie wouldn't be so afraid. At least, here, in a safer space.

Meanwhile, Richie and Ben were trying to find a song to do together.

"What about _Shallow?_ I could be Gaga," offered Richie, pointing to the song.

"I'd rather gouge my own eyes out."

"Noted. We don't want to bring the place down."

"What about _Living on a Prayer_?" Ben asked earnestly.

"Benjamin. I trusted you not to be basic."

They flipped through the book, randomly landing on pages and looking at songs.

"Richie. This one."

Ben pointed to the song on the page and Richie lit up like Christmas lights.

"Yes. Perfect."

Richie and Ben made their way back to the bar after submitting their song, and Richie promptly ordered four shots of tequila.

"Are… are those for all of us?" Eddie questioned.

"Nope, these are for Benny and I. Liquid courage," he answered, handing off two to Ben.

"Not like you even need it Richie," Bev lightly scolded.

"Yeah but Bev… when will I get the chance to go out for tequila again?" He gave her very convincing puppy eyes, and even Eddie felt bad.

"Okay okay stop the eyes. Do your shots before they call you up."

"Cheers."

Ben and Richie clinked their glasses together, and downed each shot. Richie almost double fisted, but thought against it.

"Eugh. Hell yeah." Richie and Ben both grimaced, but Richie recovered first. "You ready Ben?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Beverly shook her head at her boys. "Ben, you know you don't have to do this with him."

Richie put a hand over his heart and pouted, fake hurt.

But Ben was smiling and had an excited shine in his eye. "Yeah, I know, but I want to." He held out his closed fist to Richie. "Karaoke bros."

Richie could have not been more proud. "Karaoke bros!" he shouted, pounding Ben's fist with his own.

As if on queue, the guy running the karaoke turned on his mic and tapped it, getting everyone’s attention.

“Alright folks,” the guy announced. He was dressed up as a classic Bela Lugosi Dracula, widow’s peak and all. “We have a duo coming to the stage now under the names Trashmouth and New Kid. We got Trashmouth and New Kid in the house?”

Richie let out a resounding whoop and pulled Ben with him to the little stage. The vampire DJ gave them their mics and asked them if they were ready.

“Absolutely,” said Richie, while Ben nodded, like a tight lipped bobble head.

There was no music. Only one word on the screen for Richie to sing.

“ _WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELL!”_

The crowd went nuts in the split second between the next few words.

_“You know you make me wanna-”_

_“(Shout!)”_

_“Kick my heels up and-”_

_“(Shout!)”_

_“Throw my hands up and-”_

_“(Shout!)”_

_“Throw my head back and-”_

_“(Shout!)”_

_“Come on now!”_

_“(Shout!)”_

Richie was like a firecracker across the little stage. He kicked and threw his hand and everything else he was singing about, and Ben bobbed his head as he sang backup to Richie’s impressive vocals.

_“Don't forget to say you will! Don't forget to say, yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!”_

_“(Say you will)!”_

_“Say it right now baby!”_

_“(Say you will)!”_

_“Come on, come on-”_

_“(Say you will)!”_

_“Say it, will-a you-”_

_“(Say you will)!”_

_“Come on now!”_

Richie was looking right at Eddie now, eyes narrowed almost flirtatiously. He pointed at him and made a _come hither_ motion with his finger. Eddie inched toward the stage, amused. Richie dropped to his knees suddenly and continued to sing.

_“Say that you love me!”_

_“(Say!)”_

_“Say that you need me!”_

_“(Say!)”_

_“Say that you want me!”_

_“(Say!)”_

_“You wanna please me!”_

_“(Say!)”_

_“Come on now!”_

_“(Say!)”_

_“Come on now!”_

_“(Say!)”_

_“Come on now!”_

Bev watched Richie get on his knees and sing to Eddie with begging eyes, while the other boy blushed and smiled.

Ah. So that’s what the tequila was for, huh?

She continued to watch Richie flirt with Eddie from his place on the stage, but Eddie didn’t seem to realize that Richie was actually being genuine. He continued to have a dumb little smile on his face and bopped around along with Richie and Ben from his place on the floor.

Speaking of Ben, his movements were definitely more awkward and bumbling, like a dancing gorilla, but wow was it cute. He was really trying to keep up with Richie, who had the energy of a cracked out squirrel.

The song seemed like it ended, and everyone in the bar cheered, but Richie snuck behind Ben and pushed him forward. There was still more to go.

_“Now wait a minute!”_

Ben glanced back at Richie, who held up both thumbs supportively.

_“I feel alright!”_

_“(Yeah yeah, yeah yeah!)”_

_“Now that I got my woman-”_ Ben reached out for Bev and she held his hand. _“I feel alright!”_

_“Every time I think about you, you been so good to me.”_

_“You know you make me wanna-”_

Ben pulled away and sang along with Richie. Bev was impressed by her friend’s higher register.

_“(Shout-wooooooo!)”_

Ben was more confident now, and was very quick to show off, kicking around the stage. Richie still maintained his own crackhead dancing.

_“Lift my heels up and-”_

_(Shout-woo!)_

_“Throw my head back and-”_

_“(Shout-woo!)”_

_“Kick my heels up and-”_

_“(Shout-woo!)”_

_“Come on now!”_

_“(Shout-woo)”_

_“Take it easy!”_

_“(Shout-woo!)”_

_“Take it easy!”_

_‘(Shout-woo!)”_

_“Take it easy!”_

_“(Higher! Shout!)”_

_“A little bit softer now-”_

_“(Woooo, shout!)”_

_“A little bit softer now-”_

_(Shout!)_

_“A little bit softer now-”_

_(Shout!)_

_“A little bit softer now.”_

The bar was singing along, and the energy was absolutely incredible. They sang soft when Ben told them to, and got louder when the lyrics changed.

_“HEY-EY-EY-EY!”_

Bev and Eddie jumped ecstatically, along with the rest of the costumed crowd. “ _HEY-EY-EY-EY-EY!”_

Ben and Richie sang and the crowd responded, their friends the loudest of them all. Richie’s bright eyes didn’t leave their hooked gaze on Eddie for a second.

As the song faded out the entire bar gave the boys a thundering round of applause. They clasped hands and bowed, and Ben pulled Richie into a hug. Beverly laughed.

She was so glad that they got along.

Eddie tugged on her shirt sleeve. “Hey I’m gonna find the bathroom.”

“I think it’s towards the front,” she told him, louder than necessary, but he nodded.

“Thank you.”

As he wove his way through people and disappeared into the crowd, Richie and Ben appeared.

“Dude that was amazing! I am not worthy!” Richie exclaimed, bowing goofily at Ben, who was flushed and a little sweaty.

“Stop it man, those high notes? Amazing, I could _never_ hit those!” he complimented right back, smacking Richie on the back.

“Alright, whenever you guys are done fondling each other’s balls, we should try to get more drinks before closing time,” Bev said, motioning towards the bar.

Ben chuckled and put his arm around her. “Yes dear.”

Richie seemed to notice that Eddie wasn’t around and looked around frantically. “Hey, where’s Eddie?”

"He just went to the bathroom. He’s fine.”

Eddie was _not_ fine.

Sure, he made it to the bathroom okay, and after a quick wizz and a passing judgement on the state of the men’s room, (which he didn’t take too much time to think on or he would have asked for the manager), he tried to make his way back to where his friends were when he passed some grease ball with a dirty blonde mullet.

Normally the mullet wouldn’t have been that much of an offence, but in Eddie’s passing he heard him say:

“I didn’t know Marty McFly was a faggot.”

That had Eddie spinning in place to face him. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

The mullet guy sneered. “Oh look, the faggot talks.”

Eddie vibrated with anger. “Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?”

The mullet guy sauntered up to him, leaning right into Eddie’s face.

“The name’s Henry Bowers, and I think you’re a little cock sucking fairy.”

There was a quick sound of flesh slapping flesh that echoed throughout the bar, and Eddie looked down at his fist that now had blood running down his knuckles. He didn’t even feel his arm move, and now Henry had a bleeding nose.

“Oh, you’re fucking dead.”

Henry swung but Eddie ducked quickly and tackled the hick to the ground. The entire bar was looking at them now, including Richie, Bev and Ben, who tried to clear past the crowd circling them.

“ _Eddie! EDDIE!_ ” Richie screamed, plowing through the crowd. He stopped cold at the sight of Eddie pounding his fists into Henry’s face.

Bev and Ben halted behind him; Bev’s hands flew to her face and Ben stood with his mouth hanging open.

Richie rushed behind the smaller boy and tried to grab him by the waist to pull him off.

He was successful, for a second.

If Bill had been there, he would have told him that going directly behind Eddie during one of his fits of anger was dangerous.

So Richie had to find out the hard way.

Eddie jerked his elbow back and connected with Richie’s nose, sending the taller boy back into Ben’s arms. Beverly gasped.

Richie touched his face gently, dabbing at the now pouring blood from his nostril.

_Eds._

Beverly stepped around him until she was able to get within Eddie’s line of sight.

“Eddie. Eddie! Stop! It’s not worth it!”

Eddie slowed his punches and looked up at her with feral eyes. Whatever this guy said, it sure the hell set him off.

“Look at me Eddie. Stop. Look at Richie,” she told him, pointing behind him.

Eddie craned his head back and looked where Richie was, slumped into Ben’s arms with a bloody nose and swelling upper lip. His glasses were gone.

He did that. To Richie.

He hurt Richie.

Eddie stopped all movement. He finally saw what he was doing, the pulp he was turning this guy’s face into.

He was horrified.

He scrambled off of the guy and glanced around at all the faces that shared his horror, mixed with disgust and other emotions he didn’t bother processing. He backed into someone, who gasped and scurried away.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, looking at Richie directly.

Then he was running.

“Eddie!” Bev called out, trying to step after him, but Richie was hurt, and she turned her attention to her friend.

“Oh Richie. Are you okay?”

There was so much blood.

“Glasses. I need my glasses.”

Some dude from the crowd held out the glasses after picking them up off the floor and handed them to Bev, who placed them gently on Richie’s face. He winced anyway.

“There. Better?”

Richie nodded and managed to stand, while the guy on the floor had other people help him up.

As soon as the guy was back on his feet, Richie made his way over to him with fire in his eyes.

“Listen here, fuck face. I don’t know what you said, but you better not ever say that shit again, do you hear me?” Richie snarled.

Henry kept his head down, and Richie, feeling satisfied, walked toward the exit. Ben and Bev followed behind him.

“This whole place is full of faggots.” Richie heard him mutter, and his blood ran cold.

_Oh._

They made their way outside, and the cold night air hit Richie like a brick. His nose stung, but it was no longer bleeding.

That was the least of his worries.

“Which way do you think Eddie went?” Ben asked, looking both ways down the sidewalk.

“He could have ran towards home, or completely the opposite way, just in case that guy followed him,” Richie reasoned. He groaned at the sharp pain in his lip as he talked.

“I’m gonna go find him. Bev, do you think you can get Richie back to the dorms?”

Bev was pretty sober, and confident enough to drive up the street, so she nodded. Richie shook his head.

“No, Ben, I should find him,” he protested. “It’s my fault. I-”

“-am hurt? I was just gonna say that.” Richie scowled. “Look, Richie, you need to make sure your nose isn’t fucking broken okay? I know you care about Eddie. But he needs to cool down and seeing you like that,” he gestured to Richie’s face. “Is going to make him feel guilty as fuck.”

He couldn’t really argue with Ben’s logic. “Fine. But you better make sure he gets back home safe or I swear to god-”

“I will, Richie,” Ben promised. He walked over to Bev and kissed her forehead. “Please be careful.”

"I will,” she whispered.

He watched them get into her car and didn’t stop until she turned onto the dorm’s street. It only took a couple minutes.

Now to find Eddie.

After deciding to walk in the opposite direction, it didn’t take long at all to find Eddie sitting in an alleyway, hugging his knees to his chest.

It was absolutely filthy, but Eddie didn’t care. He hurt Richie.

Nothing really mattered.

He was wiping his tears away on one of his many shirts when Ben walked up to him. “Hey there, tiger.”

 _Eww. Why did guys say tiger like that?_ Eddie thought.

“If I’m a tiger, shouldn’t you be afraid of me?” he asked.

Ben, despite the situation, laughed. “Not in the slightest. That guy was a major asshole.”

Eddie stared at the ground. “Is Richie afraid of me?”

Ben decided to kneel and come to Eddie’s eye level. “If he was, I don’t think he would have tried to come and find you.”

Hearing that made Eddie’s heart drop.

“So why didn’t he?”

“Because I told him not to.”

Eddie finally met Ben’s eyes. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you were already feeling guilty and I don’t think that you would have been assured if you saw Richie’s bloody face.”

Well, he wasn’t exactly wrong.

“So, is Richie okay? I didn’t break anything?” he asked earnestly.

Ben shook his head. “I don’t think so. But Bev and Stan are gonna look at him.” He was tired of kneeing, so he sat down on the concrete.

“What did that guy say to you, Eddie?”

Eddie couldn’t look at him. It was so stupid, to get so mad over a little word.

Ben reached out and placed his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie didn’t bother to flinch away. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

“He called me a faggot. A cock sucking fairy.”

Ben’s brow furrowed. No wonder Eddie got so mad.

“Shit, I would have punched him too.”

Eddie managed a quick laugh, almost a bark, but turned his face away from Ben.

“He was right.”

“What was that?”

“He was right. I am a faggot. A dirty fucking faggot.” Eddie felt his eyes well up with tears, and Ben stared at him.

“Eddie. There’s nothing wrong with being a f- being gay. Or just… attracted to men, too. You know that, right?”

It was a bit of a condescending question, but Eddie knew that, coming from Ben, it wasn’t meant that way.

Still, Eddie sat and blinked the tears from his eyes, unable to speak.

Ben leaned against the brick wall and played with his thumbs while he thought of something to say. “Being gay didn’t stop you from kicking that guy’s ass, did it?”

God, Ben was trying so hard.

Eddie giggled. “No. I fucking wrecked his ass.”

“There ya go. That guy has to know that he got his ass kicked by a f- by a guy he hates. For no reason except his own stupidity. Doesn’t that make you feel great?”

Eddie felt a smile forming. “Yeah, it does.”

As quick as it came, it left.

“But Richie…”

“Richie is fine. He got in the line of fire but that’s not your fault. Anyone who tries to stop a fight gets hurt sometimes,” Ben reasoned.

Again. He wasn’t wrong.

“I really hope I didn’t break his nose. He’s got such a cute nose.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Does he now?”

Eddie pursed his lips together, like that was supposed to stop the thought that was already out.

“Shit. Did I say that part out loud?”

Ben and Eddie shared a laugh at that. The taller boy managed to stand and helped Eddie to his feet.

“Come on Lover Boy, I promised I would get you home safe.”

  
  


Meanwhile, Bev and Richie made it up to Richie’s dorm, after some damage control to the front desk lady, who tried to convince them to call an ambulance.

Bev unlocked the door and kicked it open, startling Stan awake.

“Holy fuck Richie, how drunk are yo- Shit!”

Stan sat up quickly once he realized Bev had Richie holding her shoulder, and the small lamplight illuminated the crusty blood on his face.

He swung out of bed and helped Richie to his bed while Bev scrambled to the fridge to find something frozen.

“What the fuck happened?”

Bev found some frozen broccoli and gave it to Richie, who held it over his nose and lip.

“It’s uh, quite the story.”

  
  


Once Ben knew Eddie could make it inside his building, he left to meet Bev back at the dorms, which gave Eddie a walk alone to his floor.

He didn’t think anyone would be awake, but someone was watching TV in the living room. He didn’t even bother to say anything, only rushing to the bathroom so he could wash that homophobe’s blood off of his hands.

He splashed cold water on his face too, once he saw how red and puffy his eyes were.

“Who’s blood is that?”

Eddie swung around, startled by the sudden voice.

Mike stood, his hands held up. “Relax, it’s just me.”

Eddie slouched, feeling like shit. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt another person he cared about.

“Hey, Mike.”

Mike’s mouth twisted into an amused smile. “Hi Eddie. Who’s blood is on your jacket?”

The shorter boy turned his head and looked down at his right shoulder, which was covered in crusted blood.

Richie’s blood.

“Oh that? That was there when I bought it.”

Mike couldn’t help but be skeptical about his bold faced lie.

“Okay, okay. I got into a fight at the bar.”

Mike traded his skeptic look for one of sympathy.

“Take that vest off and come with me.”

Eddie listened, hurriedly taking off the bloody vest and following Mike to his room. His roommate turned on the light and went straight for his dresser, while the other boy gazed around his room in awe.

There were at least a dozen different comic book character posters all over his walls, but what stood out to Eddie was the pride flag that hung directly above his headboard.

It was a rainbow flag, but included were a black and brown stripe.

Eddie was familiar with that flag.

“You like that?” asked Mike, breaking Eddie’s focus.

Eddie nodded. He didn’t realize… or maybe he did.

"I'm gay. But I'm black first," he said. He handed Eddie a cold plastic cylinder with a key ring attached. "Even if someone attacks me, putting my hands on them could get me killed."

Eddie's lips tugged downward in a somber frown. He knew exactly what Mike meant and it was horrible.

"So I don't let them get close. I spray, and I run. You can run, can't you?"

Eddie Kaspbrak used to run every day for eight years. It was the only thing that kept him sane. But he knew what Mike was asking.

_Can you keep yourself safe?_

"Of course I can."

Mike smiled. "Good. I like your pasty ass, Eddie. I don't want to see it get hurt."

He should just tell him. There was no point in keeping it a secret.

"I'm gay, too," Eddie blurted.

Maybe not now. Too late. Shit.

Mike still held his grin, but his eyes had softened.

"I know Eddie. And it's something you can be proud of," he told him, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Eddie looked back up at the flag about Mike's bed. "I know. It just-"

"Makes your life a little more difficult?" he asked, and Eddie nodded. "Trust me. I get it. Take it from the gay black country boy."

Eddie found a laugh escape him, a quick chuckle. He brought his gaze back to Mike and found a new sense of confidence.

"I like someone."

Mike cocked his head, and dropped his hand. "It's not me is it? Because, I'm sorry Eddie, but I already got eyes on someone."

Eddie watched Mike's eyes travel to Bill's door, not at all subtle.

_Oh._

"No, Mike. You're off the hook."

Mike jokingly sighed. "Thank God, I was afraid of breaking your little heart."

That brought out more laughter out of the two of them.

"No, actually it's... It's Richie."

Mike's soft eyes now bugged out. "Trashmouth? Your radio buddy?" Mike asked, incredulously. Eddie couldn't tell if that was a good or bad reaction.

"...Yes?"

Mike's grin was now feral. "Holy cock fucking shit. Eddie!!! Oh man!" He pulled Eddie into a celebratory hug. "That's wonderful!"

Eddie accepted the hug, but when it broke, he stared at Mike, confused. "It is?"

"Uh, yeah??? You're living in a gay romance novel, my friend."

Now Eddie was blushing, deep crimson. "Shut the fuck up."

"Two boys, trapped for work, and as they spend their intimate hours together, they find love in each other! It's a clear romantic comedy story," Mike lamented, batting his eyelashes.

"Wow, you and Bill should write a book," Eddie grumbled. Mike laughed.

"You gotta write this story yourself, buddy," Mike told him matter-of-factly. "Unless... Is he not-?" The other boy flicked his wrist downwards, and Eddie took all his mental strength to not roll his eyes.

"Yes." Eddie thought back to that night in the studio, the night of Ben's phone call.

_Hi, I’m Richie Tozier, and I’m bisexual. Surprise!_

"He's bi. So yeah. But why would he- I mean, I'm not-" Eddie sighed. "I'm probably not his type." He thought about Bev and Stan. "I mean his friends are gorgeous!"

"You don't think you're attractive?"

Eddie shrugged.

“Listen, I thought Bill was pretty, but when I realized I was going to be living with _two_ pretty boys? Man. What was my luck, huh?”

That made Eddie blush. Mike was too sweet.

“I elbowed the guy in the nose tonight, Mike.”

Mike let out a whistle. “Welp. That’s a little unfortunate, but I’m sure he forgives you. Plus, what was he doing trying to pull you off someone, anyway? You let people fight.”

“I probably would have killed the guy,” Eddie admitted.

It was Mike’s turn to shrug. “He would have gotten what he deserved.”

Eddie finally let out a good and proper laugh. “Yeah. Probably. Guy had a fucking mullet.”

Mike gasped. “Ewww. Fuck that guy.”

“Agreed.”

Mike nodded at his gift in Eddie’s hands. “Put that pepper spray away, change outta them clothes, and join me for this movie.”

“What are we watching?”

“ _Silence of the Lambs_.”

Cannibalism. Fantastic.

“Give me five minutes.”

  
  


Eddie didn’t think Richie would answer, but when the rings stopped, so did Eddie’s heart.

“Eddie? You okay?”

_I should be asking you that, Richie._

“I’m fine. How are you? How’s your nose?”

“It’s fine. Bruised, not broken. My lip is a little busted. My kissing days are over,” he joked.

Eddie really tried hard to not think about kissing Richie, swollen lip or otherwise.

“That’s a shame.”

“Eh. _C’est la vie.”_

“ _La vie.”_

Richie giggled. “You’re a nut.”

“And you’re not mad?”

A few streets away, Richie Tozier felt his heart melting in his chest like ice cream in a microwave.

How could he be mad at someone like Eddie Kaspbrak?

“No, I could never be mad at you, Eddie.”

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meesa likea the comments. Meesa feel validated when you comment.


	8. Everyone Blooms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie tells Eddie that he didn't do any real damage, so Eddie can feel better about the accident.
> 
> Then, Richie feels fear for the first time in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking a break but that last chapter was almost 10k and I was exhausted, plus work and everything has my mind in jumbles.
> 
> I also needed a lot of time to really think about this chapter. For soon to be obvious reasons.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> "Everyone Blooms" -The Front Bottoms
> 
> "The Goonies 'r' Good Enough" -Cindy Lauper
> 
> MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING: Near Death Experience

_Why Stan? Why?_

  
  


There was a time when Richie felt he would never know what actual fear felt like. Sure he had been afraid of things, of emotions, of people.

But the fear of losing his best friend was a new, uninvited feeling. A fear that twisted his stomach like a towel being rung out. Another wave of nausea washed over him and he retched, but it was dry, and nothing came out.

_Fuck. Fuck shit mother fucker._

The steady beat of the heart monitor echoed against the sterile white walls, bouncing around Richie’s ribs, making him ache.

_Stan… What were you thinking?_

  
  


Richie studied the healing bruise on his nose. “Give it to me straight Doc… am I still sexy?”

Stan snorted. “You are still the Tom Selick of North Derry U.”

Richie peaked his head out of the bathroom wearing a cheeky grin. “Tom Selick? No shit, that is high praise my friend. Thank you, Doctor Uris.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t you have to go flirt with someone else? Someone whose name rhymes with _spaghetti_?” Stan raised his gaze over his book, narrowing his eyes.

“That’s not even creative, Staniel.”

Stan heard Richie sigh. It wasn’t a fake frustrated sigh, but one that actually sounded… defeated. Sad.

“Rich?”

The other boy left the bathroom and stood against the wall where Stan’s bed sat, and craned his head to look up at the ceiling.

“He looks at me like I’m a kicked puppy, Stan. We’ll just be… sitting there, fine and laughing and fucking around, and then he just stops and stares at my nose.” Richie held his hands out and chopped the air for emphasis.

“He probably feels guilty, man. And he’s going to for a while,” Stan explained, probably redundantly.

“I know. I can _see_ it, dude. And it makes me sad. Like he’s afraid.” The distress in Richie’s voice tugged Stan’s heart strings.

“Well, maybe he is. So you gotta leave the ball in his court until he feels comfortable. It’s gonna suck. Like hard dick. But you can’t make him feel better vocally. He just has to see you heal. Just act like everything is normal.”

“But it _is_ normal!”

Stan couldn’t help but look skeptical.

“Okay… not that normal. But I’m not mad at him!” Richie insisted.

“I think he knows that, Richie. It’s not surface emotions he’s struggling with, and I think you know that.”

Richie took his turn to look at his friend. “How do you know this shit?”

There was mild panic in his eyes, but Richie didn’t see it. “I just read a lot,” he said, raising his book.

“Fair. I should read more.”

“Don’t work harder than you need to.”

“Wow. Rude.”

Stan laughed at Richie's pout. "Okay you big baby. Go to work."

"Fine. I'll go. Only because I know how much you love to watch me walk away," Richie said, sticking out his tongue.

Stan put his book against his chest, and looked jokingly heartbroken as Richie sauntered away with an exaggerated switch of his hips.

Once Richie left, Stan set his book down and grabbed his phone from under his pillow. It didn't take long for him to call back the person that tried to get a hold of him right before Richie left.

"Hey, sorry about that. My roommate just left. Are you ready for dinner?"

  
  


Eddie was staring at Richie's nose. Again.

He didn't mean to, but the once purple bruise was a sickly yellow-brown, with only hints of purple running through it, like small puddles of pain.

It still sent shivers down his spine to think about it. That he hurt Richie.

And Richie forgave him. Without question.

He didn't know what was scarier:

The idea of hurting Richie…

Or the creeping idea that Eddie was falling in love with him.

Love wasn't exactly a foreign concept to Eddie, but with his mom it just became so twisted, as he was learning through therapy. Dr. Muschetti told him that all emotions were fair emotions, and that he had the space now to allow himself to feel through them, so to speak.

So really, Eddie was more than capable of being in love with Richie.

But did he really want to burden someone like Richie with someone like himself?

Dr. Muschetti told him over and over that his mother was not a reflection of him, nor was his mother's irrational behavior a reflection of Eddie's future.

"You took your first steps out of the darkness," he said. "Now it's time to walk."

And he was walking, all right. Right into Richie's arms.

Or at least. He hoped. One day.

"Hey Eddie."

He blinked. Richie's voice was so soft and far away.

"Yeah… yeah?” Eddie shook his head. Focus.

“You’re staring again.”

So Richie noticed. How could he not?

Eddie turned his head away. “I’m sorry.”

“Eddie. _Eddie_. Look at me.”

The shorter boy refused, only continuing to stare at the wall.

“Eddie if you don’t turn your ass around I will tickle you without mercy,” Richie threatened, and Eddie knew he meant it.

Eddie turned slowly, because even while being upset, he was still dramatic.

“Keep going. I need you to have a full view of my mug.”

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he stopped dead in front of his co-host and gazed directly at him, meeting his eyes, which were just as sympathetic and soft as his voice.

“There. You happy now?”

Richie smirked. “Maybe. Give me your hands.”

“W-what?”

The taller boy held out his own hands, palms up. “Give me your hands. Please.”

Eddie looked down at Richie’s hands, that seemed innocent enough. He was getting better at accepting physical affection, and not questioning the hygienic state of someone's body, but he was nervous for a reason that his pounding heart obviously knew.

Would Richie feel it?

Eddie placed his own hands, palms up, in Richie’s, and the other boy proceeded to place Eddie’s hands on his face.

“Uh. Richie? What are you doing?”

“Shhhh. Trust me, Spaghetti.”

Trust wasn’t the problem here.

Richie guided Eddie’s right hand across the left side of his face. His fingers skimmed the bottom of Richie’s glasses until they rested on the bridge of his nose, his palm barely missing his lips.

“ _I_ _was born in it, bred into it_ ,” Richie quoted in a Tom Hardy Bane voice.

“Richie what the fuck?” Eddie laughed.

“Sorry, I had to. Okay. Do you feel my nose?”

Eddie stared at him. “Yes.”

“You feel the bruise?”

“You can’t really feel a bruise, Richie…”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Yeah I feel it.”

Richie dropped his hands but Eddie’s continued to stay in their places. Eddie was still cupping Richie’s cheek.

“Do I look hurt?”

Richie pulled off his glasses so Eddie could really see him. The crinkles in the corners of his eyes while he smiled, a small smile, and the gentle gaze of his dark night sky eyes.

Eddie dared to scooch closer in his rolling chair.

He really took notice of how soft Richie’s skin felt against his hand, and how he could almost entangle his fingers in his curly hair, and his index finger on his left hand brushed under Richie’s earlobe.

Warm. Richie was so warm.

He wished his other hand wasn’t blocking Richie’s lips.

Or maybe he didn’t.

He would be way too tempted to see if they were warm, too.

“No. But-”

“But nothing. This?” Richie tapped Eddie’s hand. “This was an accident. This was partially my fault. I know you feel guilty but I’m not broken.”

Then Richie did something that had Eddie’s heart practically stop.

He pulled Eddie’s hand away from his face and held it against his chest.

Right over his heart.

Eddie could feel Richie’s heart pulse faintly under his palm.

Richie’s rhythm.

“This is not broken. We’re still friends.”

Friends. Yeah.

“I can’t have you looking at me with those big sad eyes forever, okay?”

It took Eddie a second to realize that he was still holding Richie’s cheek, while his other hand rested against the taller boy’s heart.

He could do it.

He could just… pull him in.

Kiss him.

Eddie bravely rubbed his thumb against Richie’s cheek.

_Richie. I’m gay. And I really like you._

“Richie… I-” He dropped his hand from Richie’s chest and placed it on his thigh. “I’m-”

The phone rang, signaling them both to pull apart.

When did the music stop?

Richie put the phone speaker, his movements noticeably reluctant. “Hey caller, you’re on with Trashmouth.”

“Where is the music, Tozier?” An angry voice demanded.

It was Rat Boy.

“Oh, hey Jerry.”

“Don’t _hey Jerry_ me! Why weren’t you playing music for the last ten minutes?”

Was their interaction really ten minutes? How did either of them not notice the music shutting off?

“Oh man, so I took this fat dump right? And the toilet in the studio clogged, so Spaghetti had to help me plunge it, and it just _stunk_ up the place so we opened the door and stepped out after because we thought we were gonna DIE dude. It was so bad. So we just kinda forgot about the music and it played itself out. My bad. I won’t eat another corner store enchilada before my shift _ever_ again.”

Wow. Richie really was a master with words.

“I have my eye on you two, Tozier,” he snarled, and hung up.

Richie looked over at Eddie, who was still staring at the phone.

“So, you think he bought that?”

Eddie glanced up at him. “Oh absolute not.”

They erupted into laughter.

“So. You were saying something?” Richie wondered. Eddie didn’t catch the hopeful look in his eyes.

“Um. No more sad eyes. I got it,” he said quickly, and Richie deflated like a stabbed yoga ball.

“Then we should play something before Killjoy calls us back.”

Eddie turned back to his computer. There was a song stuck in his head from the movie he watched with Bill and Mike on Sunday, after he told them he had never seen it before.

Perks of a sheltered life.

Eddie found the song faster than he expected and pressed play.

Richie recognized it immediately.

“The Goonies song? Spaghetti, you never cease to surprise me.”

_“Good enough... For you is good enough! For me is good enough. It's good enough for me!”_

“That’s me. Full of surprises.”

_Does that make me good enough?_

  
  


Class was extra boring, so Richie was more than excited to be able to go back to the dorms and just chill.

He had strong doubts that Stan would be home, but when he walked into the dorm he saw Stan’s stuff on his bed, along with his usual shoes on the floor.

“Stan?” Richie waltzed over to the bathroom door that he noticed was closed. He knocked twice. Nothing.

“Stan?” He called out again. “You in there?”

He reached for the doorknob, but it didn’t turn all the way. The door was locked, and there was no sound.

Richie reached for the bathroom key on his key ring and continued to speak. “Stan if you’re blowing up the toilet right now just moan once.”

There was no answer, so Richie stuck in his key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

  
  


Richie saw Stan stirring in his hospital bed, and the line on the heartbeat monitor spiked. Stan was waking up.

The door opened and a doctor walked in, holding her clipboard.

Stan opened his eyes slowly and started to sit up, but the doctor rushed over.

“Mr. Uris, please don’t strain yourself. You’re in the hospital and you just woke up from a traumatic experience.”

He laid back and glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings. He finally saw Richie sitting against the wall.

“Richie… what happened?”

The other boy lowered his hands that were nervously grasping his face. “You don’t remember?”

The doctor scowled, like Richie said something wrong. What the fuck else was he supposed to say?

“No, I feel like I just woke up from a dream.”

The doctor didn’t look happy about Richie wanting to say something, but he pressed forward.

“Stan, you almost drowned in our bathtub.”

  
  


Richie saw a bubble escape from Stan’s submerged nose and rise to the surface of the bathwater.

He was still breathing.

Richie snapped out of his shocked state and rushed over to pull his friend up and out of the water. He had Stan draped over the bathtub, while he grabbed a towel and threw it on the floor and spread it out as best as he could.

He hoisted Stan out by the shoulders and reached up under his knees to get him into a bridal carry so he could place him on the ground.

“Stan. Stay with me buddy. You’re still breathing. You’re gonna be okay.”

But Stan’s chest wasn’t rising or falling.

Shit. No no no nonononono.

What did his dad say? How did you give CPR?

_Breath of life, then Staying Alive._

Richie placed his lips on Stan’s, trying to remember what it looked like in movies, and breathed in. Once. Twice.

He started the compressions, lacing his hands together and mumbled the song that his dad taught him.

“ _I-I-I-I’m staying alive. Staying alive.”_

He felt Stan’s chest move and he watched Stan’s mouth open, a watery cough escaping him. He turned Stan’s head so the water could dribble onto the floor, which he had never seen, but he thought it would help.

Stan kept coughing and Richie realized that he should definitely be calling an ambulance.

The front of Richie’s jeans was soaked through and that meant his phone was toast, so he ran out to his door and shouted into the hallway.

“HELP! SOMEONE CALL 911 MY FRIEND IS HURT!”

There was a sound of a dozen wooden doors opening and voices whispering and finally someone calling out to Richie.

“I GOT IT WHAT ROOM ARE YOU?”

“28! Tell them I’ll keep it open!”

Richie rushed back to Stan, who was curled up against the towel. He watched his friend’s chest rise and fall, which meant his breathing was steady. For now.

He was also very naked.

Richie pulled the sweatpants that were folded on top of the sink down to the floor. They were about to get _very_ close.

“Stan. If you can hear me make a noise.”

Stan let out a guttural sound.

“Okay. Okay good you’re still conscious. Listen to me. The paramedics are coming. But you’re naked. I’m gonna put these pants on you.”

Stan managed a nod, his eyes clenched shut.

Richie carefully slid each leg over foot and moved them up, until he reached Stan’s no no square. He lifted his friend’s legs and carefully pulled the pants over his front, then back.

Stan turned his head and opened his eyes, just enough.

“Thanks… Richie…”

  
  


“Wait... What?”

“You almost died, Stan.”

The doctor finally butted in. “That’s enough. If you continue to bother the patient, I will ask you to leave.”

Richie leaned against his chair and crossed his arms. Who was this bitch?

“Mr. Uris, your friend is correct. You almost drowned.”

Stan stared straight at the wall. “I… I remember taking a sleeping pill, and getting into the bath…”

“Mr. Uris, do you have a history of depression or self harm?”

“Are you fucking serious?” Richie exclaimed. 

Stan wasn’t depressed.

Was he?

Stan looked nearly as offended. “Does it say that in my chart?”

The doctor looked at her chart. “No, but this is a very suspicious accident.”

“Look, Doctor…” He looked down at her name tag. “Dr. Lillis. I’m in college. All of us are depressed. But it was an accident. I fell asleep in the bathtub. There’s nothing to read into.”

Richie nodded. There was the Stan he knew.

“We’ll still have to keep you for twenty four hour observation and examine your blood work,” she told him, as if that would get him to fess up to something.

“Do I get to contact my parents so they’re not surprised by the bill you’re about to send them?” He asked.

“Feel free,” she told him, and walked out of the room.

“What a bitch,” said Richie once the door was closed.

Stan looked down at the IV in his hand and pressed it, wincing. Why would he do that?

“Some people aren’t meant to be doctors,” Stan agreed. “My parents are gonna kill me.”

“You’ll be fine. Their insurance is good, right?”

“Yeah but that’s not the point Richie.”

Richie gave his friend a once over. It was not a welcome sight to see him in a hospital gown, his legs covered in a white equally sterile and probably itchy blanket. The IV that was feeding him fluids strapped to his hand. The oxygen tubes around his ears that sat on his lip under both nostrils.

It twisted Richie’s stomach again.

“Was it really an accident?”

Stan’s head snapped up. “Richie…”

“I mean dude, you know how fucking scary it is to find your best friend drowning in the tub? I saw the pill bottle on the sink, Stan.”

“Richie. It was melatonin.”

The taller boy ran his fingers down his arms, back and forth. He didn’t feel good about any of this.

Stan sighed. “I had a bad day. I wanted to take a nap and relax, so I took a couple to make me tired and drew a bath… I didn’t think I was going to fall asleep in the tub.”

“Why was the door locked?” Richie’s voice sounded far away, even to himself.

Stan raised his usual eyebrow. “You’re asking me that like we haven’t lived together for the last three years.”

That was a fair point, but still…

“Richie… I would never do that to you. That would leave you so fucked up. Not to mention Bev, and my parents. It was an accident. I swear.”

Richie sniffed and rubbed his tears away. “You swear to Jewish God?”

Stan chuckled. “You know our God is the same God, right?”

That glare told Stan that he really didn’t care.

“Fine. I swear on Jewish God I didn’t try to kill myself.”

“Good.” But the tears kept coming.

“Richie. Richie, come here.”

Stan held out his arms and beckoned for Richie to come and give him a hug, which Richie didn’t hesitate to do after standing from his chair.

His friend’s hands against his back was a new comfort.

“I’m sorry I put you through this okay?”

Richie blinked the tears that continued to fall. Of course he believed Stan. But it was still so, _so_ scary.

“I saw your dick,” he blurted.

Stan broke their hug, doubling over in laughter. “Yeah. Yeah you did. You put my pants on.”

“Like you were a baby,” said Richie, now giggling.

“See? It’s okay. We’re laughing.”

“Because we’re fucked in the head.”

Stan shrugged. “Oh well. There’s worse things.”

“You’re right.” Richie fished in his hoodie pocket for Stan’s phone. “Call your parents. Let them know you’re okay. I’ll step outside.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Just call Bev after and ask her to bring me a bag of rice and a tupperware container.”

It took a second but Stan frowned. “Oh, Rich, your phone…”

“Don’t worry about it. Easy fix.”

Not really. He would be without it for almost two days if he wanted to be careful.

He would figure it out. He had an old phone somewhere.

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few,”

  
  


Bev showed up with the rice and container not too long after Stan called her and she nearly fell into Stan’s arms.

“Oh Stan. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Thank you, Bev,” he said, holding her tight.

“Thank Jewish God Richie came home.”

“For the last time, our God is the same-”

“I’m just glad our bathroom has a key,” Richie admitted. He probably wouldn’t have been able to break down the door with strength alone.

Bev gave Richie his rice and he took his phone apart carefully, putting it on top of one layer and covering it with the second one, sealing it.

“What did your parents say?” Bev asked.

“They said I was stupid for taking sleeping meds before a bath but, ya know, they’re glad I’m okay.”

“I mean they’re not-” Richie was interrupted by a knock on Stan’s door.

Stan clenched his blankets and his eyes darted between his friends at the door, an action not missed by Bev.

“Uh, come in?” Richie wondered why anyone would knock.

A thin girl with highlighted hair cut into a bob wearing a floral print dress stood on the doorway, and they watched her eyes fall onto Stan.

“Stanley! Oh honey!”

_Honey?_

Bev and Richie both glanced at each other. Who the fuck was this?

She strolled over to Stan’s bedside like she belonged there. “I know you told me not to come but I had to, babe.”

_Babe????_

“Uh, hi. Um, don’t take this the wrong way but-”

“Who the fuck are you?”

The girl looked up at the both of them with steely eyes. “My name is Patricia. Patricia Blum. I’m dating Stan.”

_Dating Stan?_

Stan had a whole girlfriend, and he was hiding it? From them both?

“Hi, Patty, nice to me ya. Sorry I can’t stay, I suddenly have to get the fuck out of here,” Richie told her, standing and storming out of the room.

Beverly looked between them, shaking her head.

“Really Stan?”

  
  


Richie was smoking a cigarette.

It was disgusting, but he had to. Or he would be yelling.

He found Bev’s car and leaned against it, holding his cigarette away from her hood. He let out of nasty smoke, not caring if the smell stuck.

“There you are, Richie.”

Bev walked up to her car, her footsteps echoing around them.

“Did you break into my car for one of those?” she asked him.

“It’s not breaking in if your car is unlocked,” he replied.

“Touche.” She walked over to the passenger side of the hood and sat against it. “You okay?”

“Fuck no, Bev.”

“Alright. That’s fair.” She held out two fingers and Richie slid a cigarette between them. “Talk to me.”

Richie took a slow drag, inhaled, then blew out his smoke.

“Why would he keep a girl from us?”

Bev took a drag herself and took a second to contemplate for herself.

“Honestly, I don’t know, Richie. That’s not like Stan at all.”

That definitely didn’t make him feel any better.

“Our group has always been about trust. We don’t keep things from each other!” Richie slammed his hand down on the hood.

“Hey hey, don’t hurt Big Red.” Bev gave her headlight a pat. “Maybe he wasn’t sure about her yet. Stan hasn’t really dated seriously before.”

That was true. Still, Richie was more than honest about Eddie, and Bev told them both when Ben asked her to go steady.

So why wouldn’t Stan extend the same courtesy?

Was he embarrassed by them?

“It’s not… cool,” was all Richie could muster.

“I agree. It’s not. But we have to give Stan time to explain himself. He just got into an accident. Let him recover before you get mad at him.”

Richie’s mouth twitched. Bev had a point.

“She was very pretty.”

“God, she was beautiful, did you see her highlights?”

  
  


Bev drove Richie home, after she sent Stan a text telling him that she would be back. She also let Ben know where she was, and he told her he was praying for all of them. Which was very sweet.

Richie didn’t pray. It wasn’t really his thing.

But he hoped that his friend would still be okay, overnight and alone.

“Thanks Bev. I’ll.. talk to you later?” He shook his phone’s rice bath.

“Just download Facebook on your old phone if you find it. I’ll message you if you’re active.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Richie?

He was almost to the double doors when he turned back to look at his friend. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He smiled.

“I love you too.”

  
  


Richie found his old phone, but it was dead. So he popped it on the charger and laid in his bed. He should have had plenty of time before the radio show, but falling asleep without an alarm was dangerous. Still, he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and he couldn’t make himself look over at Stan’s side. So he closed his eyes.

  
  


Eddie showed up to the studio, but Richie was nowhere to be seen.

Jerry wasn’t there, thank god, but Richie was never late.

And Rigby would be getting off soon.

What would he do if Richie didn’t show?

He called him three times but each time was sent directly to voicemail, and he didn’t have Richie on anything else, so he tried Bev.

She answered immediately.

“Hey honey. What’s up?

“Um. Richie’s not here and it’s almost show time, is he okay?” he asked.

“Oh shit. Eddie I’m sorry but something happened with Stan and Richie’s phone got broken, and-”

“Wait wait wait. Slow down. What happened with Stan?”

So she told him. Eddie held a hand over his mouth in shock.

Oh, poor Stan, poor _Richie_ …

“So you think he’s at the dorms taking a nap?”

“He must be. I can go get him, if you want. I don’t know how but-”

“No, it’s okay. He needs rest. I got it.”

“Are you sure?”

Eddie was never sure about anything. But he knew that this was something he had to do.

He had to be brave.

“Yeah. I’m positive. Just, turn on your radio okay?”

He hoped she got the message.

“Yeah. Yeah I will. Good luck Eddie.”

“Thanks Bev. Bye.” He hung up quickly because Rigby left the studio.

“Where’s your partner in crime?” Rigby asked.

He tried to not focus on the word _partner_ too much.

“He’s dealing with personal stuff.”

“So you’re riding solo? Right on dude. Good luck,” she said as she held her hand up for a high five, which he did.

“Don’t tell Jerry,” he asked as she walked down the hall.

“Fuck that guy. You’re good.” She saluted him and he went into the studio, the panic really starting to set in.

He immediately went to the computer to queue up a couple songs while he thought of something to say.

Did he have to introduce himself?

The song faded out and he hit the microphone button.

“Hey Night Owls, I know you’ve never heard this voice before and that’s because I am the better and silent half of the radio crime duo, Eddie Spaghetti. Trashmouth is here but he lost his voice from screaming at some pigeons for a class project, so I’m doing all the talking. Feel free to call in with requests.”

He double pressed his button and played the song he had queued up.

It was _Africa_ by Toto.

  
  


Richie jolted awake. What time was it?

The phone was fully charged, but not on, and it was very dark outside.

_Fuck. Eddie. The radio show._

He tried to get the old phone on but it loaded slower than a turtle on Xanax. He should have just ran to campus but god knows how late it was.

The phone turned all the way on and Richie’s stomach dropped.

It was midnight.

Fuck.

Eddie was going to hate him for ditching him for no explanation.

After a few minutes a couple of voice messages from Bev came through and he listened to them.

But the voice was not Beverly’s.

_“This is probably a weird thing to say with your co-host right next to you, but I want to talk about the bravest guy I know._

_“His name is Trashmouth, and since I’ve met him he’s always encouraged people to be themselves, and he’s never been afraid to live life as himself. He’s got a beautiful soul, and he could talk the ear off a deaf person.”_

Richie laughed. Geez.

_“But it’s such a unique talent. And he’s such a unique person. And I wish I could be as brave as him.”_

Oh. Eds…

_“I can’t not live in fear. It’s awful. But Ric-Trashmouth is so effing brave in so many ways. He does karaoke, shots of tequila like water… And he knows he could love whoever he wants.”_

Eddie took a shaky breath.

_“I know who I’m attracted to. And people don’t like it. But I don’t fucking care. Can I say that on air? Probably not. Whoops.”_

Was Eddie… coming out?

_“I like dudes. Guys. Whatever. And I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of feeling dirty and wrong. I shouldn’t be. Not when the person I spend the most time with is their best self. Not when I know others who are proud._

_“So thanks, Trashmouth. For being you.”_

Those weren’t tears. Richie’s eyes were just leaking. Again.

_You fucking go, Eddie._

  
  


Stan returned home the next day, and Richie walked in to him making his bed. He didn’t say anything as he set his stuff down, but Stan froze.

“Hey Richie.”

Richie still didn’t speak and only sat on his bed.

Stan spun around. “Are you giving me the silent treatment?”

He looked anywhere but at Stan.

“I deserve that, I do. But will you let me explain?”

Richie didn’t want to, but he nodded.

Stan walked over and sat on Richie’s bed next to him.

“Okay, where should I-”

“Why did you hide her from us?”

Stan didn’t expect the scathing tone in Richie’s voice but he stayed calm.

“I didn’t really mean to.”

Richie turned and stared at the window.

“Ugh, Richie, just listen okay?”

Richie didn’t movie to look back at Stan but twirled his hand flippantly, to say _go on._

“I’ve been seeing her for a few weeks and I wanted to make sure I really liked her before I told you guys about her. Plus, with you and Eddie, and Bev already dating someone, I didn’t want to single you out.”

Now Richie was mad. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked, turning around to face him.

“Look, I know you’ll be happy for Bev. Always. But I see it. You get upset when she answers texts, smiles at her phone. I know you want to date Eddie but it’s a delicate situation, and you’re sacrificing happiness. It’s not hard to see. And then your other best friend, getting into a relationship? I didn’t want you to be miserable.”

Stan had hit the nail on the head, but Richie was already miserable. He had been, even before Eddie.

“You’re right. I’m not happy. But I wasn’t really happy before Eddie either.”

Stan’s mouth tugged down. “Richie…”

“I watched Bev with Bill, and countless, and I mean _countless_ girls flirt with you,” he lamented. “You guys have had boyfriends and girlfriends and I haven’t even had my first kiss!”

Richie was ready to steamroll through the entire dorm.

“The closest thing I’ve ever had to a kiss was giving you mouth to mouth, which, you’re fucking welcome, by the way.”

Even with glasses, Richie didn’t see it coming.

It happened fast, but Stan’s hands found the sides of his face and he was pulled down until his lips met Stan’s.

And it was definitely not mouth to mouth.

Stan’s lips were soft, and gentle, but it didn’t stop the whole experience from feeling weird. Not in a _I guess I’m straight way_.

More like _okay, I’m kissing my best friend and I don’t see him that way…_ way.

At least Stan was a nice kisser, and it was over before Richie could blink.

“So, you’re fucking welcome,” Stan said after pulling away.

Richie pursed his lips together.

“Full offense. But I wish that you had been Eddie instead.”

That made Stan grin.

“Fair. So that was weird for you too, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Stan chuckled. “Well, I didn’t absolutely hate that?”

“Oh.” Richie blinked with realization. “Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

They made eye contact and lost it.

Stan took a deep breath. “Richie, I love you. I do. I just hate seeing you unhappy.”

Richie thought back to Eddie, and his on air coming out.

He didn’t want to be selfish… But…

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that much longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me comments! Please! It helps me as a writer and encourages me to continue <3
> 
> Also, message me on Tumblr??
> 
> <3


	9. Use the Sleeves of My Sweater, Let's Have an Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie takes a leap of faith and invites Richie and his friend's for Thanksgiving.
> 
> Meanwhile, someone reaches out to Richie to establish a truce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I haven't touched this in 7 months. I'm so sorry to anyone who got attached to this work and felt left out when I didn't update. I wish I could give a proper answer to all of you but I don't have one. These past 7 months have been just rough on me and I felt no motivation to write. I'm really hoping to finish this story, it means a lot to me. I've got quite a few chapters left before that, so you guys will have plenty to enjoy.
> 
> I guess I just want to ask for patience. I'm not going to always update this when I want to, or when you guys expect. But I'll do my best to give them all the ending they deserve.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter. Leave a comment. 
> 
> I hope it gets you through whatever you need it to
> 
> -Paris

Eddie really came out.

It wasn't a weird dream, or a fantasy constructed by Richie's sleep deprived brain.

It was real. It happened.

And he was so, _so_ proud.

But, what now?

Should Richie make a move?

Was it too soon?

His brain was a swirling mess of conflicting emotions.

One one hand, Eddie was still pretty anonymous as a radio personality, and that meant that he would still be under the radar on campus.

On the other hand, there was so much more to consider. Would Eddie feel safe enough to hold Richie's hand in public? Would he be prepared for all of the negativity?

And his mom…

Richie shook his head. The ball. It was still in Eddie's court. Or whatever Stan said.

It had to stay there.

As much as Richie wanted to steal it.

Or, rather, take it gently.

Stealing wasn't really the word he wanted to associate with anything physical involving Eddie.

It just made the act of… the Thing sound violent.

Even so, he could still show his support.

That could never be the wrong thing.

Thank goodness for the element of surprise.

He got Rigby's number from Jerry, which was more of a hassle than it should have been, but he messaged her before her shift to ask if he could hide out in the studio until Eddie showed, and she said absolutely.

“So, your partner in crime came out. Rad.”

There was a music break, so they were making small talk until Eddie arrived.

“Y-yeah. It’s pretty cool,” he said, pushing his hair back with a shaking hand.

She smirked. “Was it what you were hoping for?”

Richie was struck by that question. How was it so fucking obvious?  
She stared over her triangular sunglasses, waiting for his answer.

“Yeah. It was.”

“Ha! I knew it.” She pumped her fist in the air victoriously. “From one gay to another, are you going to shoot your shot?”

Richie thought about balls. Basket balls.

He let out a frustrated breath that shook his lips. “I want to. But I just don’t know if... is it gonna… if it’s… I don’t know yet.”

She offered him a sympathetic pout. “Listen, I get that. This place is a shithole for tolerance. It takes a lot of bravery to be out in a place like this, and not everyone wants to run that risk.”

The memory of Eddie beating the shit out of that guy flashed before him, for a split second he was reminded:

Eddie was braver than anyone he knew.

But bravery tread a thin line against stupid.

Eddie was not stupid.

But he wished that they could be. Just two idiots. In love. Oblivious.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Whatever happens, I’m rooting for you both.”

“Thanks Rig.”

She looked up at the window and saw Eddie standing outside.

“Your friend is here,” she told Richie. He shot up out of his seat.

“I guess that’s my cue. You remember your lines?”

“Please, you insult me.” She waved him away and he scurried away into the bathroom. “Just don’t get caught making out in the studio,” she added as an afterthought.

He scoffed and she laughed. Hey, she knew from experience.

“Alright everyone, it’s time for me to head out and give the mic over to Trashmouth and Spaghetti. This is your friendly reminder that it doesn’t take much to be brave in this world, but it does take a lot to stay brave in a world that beats you down. Keep getting back up, North Derry. Rigby out.”

She queued up a few songs so Richie would have time to give his surprise, and grabbed her things to leave.

She opened the door and stepped out. “Hey Eddie. Alone again?”

“God, I hope not.” Eddie shuddered. Speaking once was enough.

“Actually, Richie just texted me and said he would be a little late, so I kept the music going until he got here,” she told him.

Weird. Richie’s phone was working now. He would have texted him first, right?

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

“No problem.” She walked past him, but turned back to face him.

“Hey. Congrats.”

He blushed. Ah. So she heard. “Thank you.”

She threw up a peace sign and continued down the hall, while he entered the studio, totally unsuspecting. 

Richie had the bathroom door cracked open so he could watch Eddie come in. He waited until the shorter boy sat down and got started on the computer before he slowly opened the door. Eddie heard nothing, just like he wanted.

**Me:** _hey u. turn around._

Eddie reached in his bag to pull out his vibrating phone while Richie grabbed his surprise off the back of the toilet.

It was totally sanitary. Shush.

Eddie read the message and whipped his head back.

His smile.

Oh god his smile.

“Richie. What in the world is this?”

The taller boy held out a small round cake, with a white base and rainbow decorative frosting. It looked like there was something written on it.

“Well, I hope it’s a cake,” he said, holding it out for Eddie to see. “Or I’ll have to have a word with Bev about her comprehension skills.”

Eddie stood up from his chair to get a better look at what was written at the top.

 _Congrats on the Gay_ it said, in red gel icing.

His laugh was music to Richie’s ears.

"Oh my god. _Richieee!_ "

"I know it's very cheesy and stupid but Bev and I are proud of you."

_I'm really proud of you._

Eddie's smile stretched from ear to ear. "This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done. Literally. That cake is probably packed with sugar."

Richie raised his eyebrows. "Are you complaining?"

"Not at all," he said, sneakily running a finger through the bottom ring of decorative frosting, ending up with a multicolored scoop.

"It's not as sweet as you," he observed, quickly smearing the frosting down Richie's nose.

The taller boy stared down at him in shock, and tried to keep himself from dropping the cake all together.

"Oh yeah Spaghetti is that how you're gonna play?" he asked, face twisting mischievously.

Now Eddie was in trouble.

It happened faster than the other boy could catch, but there was nothing stopping Richie from launching the cake into Eddie's face, covering him in frosting.

Sure it was a bit of an over-reaction, but Richie was an all or nothing type of person.

Eddie stood there, eyes shut. Not that he could really open them with the frosting coating his lids. He didn't even make a sound.

Maybe he went too far…

"Eddie? You okay?"

Despite every pore on Eddie's face screaming _no_ , he calmly wiped away the frosting on his eyes and smeared it back onto the cake.

Richie watched him with fear. Anything Eddie would do to retaliate, he definitely deserved.

He licked his lips and whatever surrounding areas he could manage to clear away as much frosting as he could.

"Mmmm, buttercream."

"Oh, he speaks!" Richie rushed to set down the cake and pull paper towels from the dispenser. "Here, I'm so sorry."

"No you're not," Eddie told him, laughing. "You'll be a dead man Richard. Just wait."

Richie watched him wipe off one side of his face, which hardly helped at all.

"You missed a spot."

"Fuck you dude. This is homophobia."

Richie giggled. "Gay on gay crime."

"I'll get you. Make it look like an accident," he muttered. "Song is almost over."

Right. The radio. How did they keep forgetting?

Richie didn't bother sitting down. He was only going to get up anyway for the spoons in the bathroom.

"Hey there night owls. Did you miss me? I know you did. Don't lie. Anyway. I just wanted to share my pride in my co-host for sharing such a momentous thing with all of you. Having pride in yourself can be hard sometimes, almost impossible for others. But we're here to tell you it's okay. Even if you can't tell anyone but yourself. Call in with your stories. Share them with us. This is Trashmouth and Spaghetti, proud together."

Richie scrambled over to the computer to find _YMCA_ , which made Eddie shake his head.

"Jesus."

"Hey. Don't knock it, Spaghetti."

"I'll knock you-"

Richie's laugh cut him off. There was still so much frosting…

He reached out and scraped some from Eddie's cheek and stuck it in his mouth.

"Mmmm, Spaghetti flavored. Delicious."

Eddie recoiled. "Gross. That probably has all my dead skin in it."

"Extra flavoring," said Richie with a shrug.

The shorter boy made a retching noise. "Disgusting."

“Hey, I never claimed to be anything else.”

Eddie finally got the last bit of frosting off of his face and went to the bathroom to wipe his face down with a wet paper towel, just to be safe. Richie took up the music queue for a minute and once he was done he pulled spoons from his back pocket and set them on the table.

“You still want to eat that after my face was in it?” he asked him.

“Uh, I already said you tasted good,” replied Richie casually.

That made Eddie _casually_ turn as red as the gel frosting.

“I can’t even imagine what your other eating habits are.”

“Are you trying to shame me Edward?”

_Maybe. Only if you knew how much I wanted to taste you-_

“Sensitive much?” he retorted.

“Actually yeah, it’s one of my endearing traits.”

Richie picked up a spoon and dug into the cake. It was a funfetti cake, at the insistence that Bev didn’t have nearly enough time or batter to do layers. Still, it was delicious.

“Come on, eat. Manja Manja.”

Eddie shook his head again, chuckling, but sat down and grabbed a spoon. “You really think we’ll be able to finish this all by ourselves?”

“I’ve finished bigger by myself, so yes. I do not recommend, that sugar crash was gnarly. I slept for twelve hours.”

“You’re a hazard.”

“Hazard is my middle name.”

“I thought it was John.”

“I legally changed it to Hazard, come on Spaghetti keep up.”

That earned Richie a shove.

They ate the cake for a while, letting the music play through. Richie had one more surprise for Eddie that he wanted to work himself up to.

After a few moments of music and chewing, Richie finally reached into his pocket and pulled out a little ziplock baggie.

“Here. I want you to have this.”

Eddie took the baggie carefully and studied its contents. A small, faded pride flag pin sat inside.

“It was my mom’s. She gave it to me when I came out in high school. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far,” he chuckled.

Eddie’s eyes were wide. “Richie, I can’t take this. It’s yours.”

“And I’m giving it to you. It’s just a little reminder. Pride doesn’t always have to be loud. Should it be? Yeah. But sometimes it has to be small. You can still wear it, knowing it belongs to you and no one can take it from you. Your pride is your own, Eddie.”

He couldn’t find words. A lump formed in his throat and his eyes were wet.

“Chee. This is… Ugh. I can’t talk.”

Richie felt his heart being tugged in every direction. Did Eddie just give him a new nickname?

“I’ll keep this safe. I promise.”

“I believe you, Eddie.”

He wished he could do more. Give him a hug, another brazen touch, a gentle caress…

But he sat, hands in his lap.

No moves were made.

“Come on, we got a cake to finish.”

Towards the end of the night Eddie worked up some of his own nerve.

"Hey Richie, what are you doing next week?"

Richie had to actually think about it. "Isn't next week Thanksgiving?"

Eddie's heart sank. Was it really Thanksgiving already? He didn't even realize it… And he didn't really want to go home.

"Oh. Yeah. Were you going home?"

Richie shook his head. "Nah, the drive isn't worth it. My parents never really do much anyway and they would rather me be home for Christmas. Are you?"

Eddie genuinely didn't have a plan to go home.

"Not really. That's why I was planning to ask if you wanted to come over."

_NO YOU WERE NOT-_

"Like, a Friendsgiving?" Richie asked.

"Yeah. Yeah! I've never done that before and it seems fun," he said, letting out an internal sigh. "You and Stan and Bev can come over, and she could bring Ben."

"Your roommates wouldn't mind?"

_I'll find out…_

"No, they're totally cool with it. They'll be there too."

Richie seemed to consider it. What else was he doing?

Besides, more time to spend with Eddie outside of the studio? Why would he pass that up?

"Of course I'll come. I'll see what the others are doing but I'm sure they'll love it," he told him.

"Awesome. I'm excited."

"Me too, Spaghetti."

  
  


The next day Eddie came back from class and to his surprise, both of his roommates were home.

Great. There was no getting out this shit.

“Hey guys.”

“Oh, hey Eddie,” greeted Bill. He looked like he was microwaving a TV dinner of some kind, while Mike was on the couch, reading. 

“What’s up, E-Man?” asked Mike, peering up from his book.

“Not much, ya know, class and stuff. Um, are both of you going to be here for a little bit? I need to ask you guys about something.”

“I gotta leave for my shift at the library soon but I have some time,” Mike said, sitting up.

“I’m here for the night,” Bill informed him, sitting on the counter top, which Eddie _hated_ , but he ignored it for the sake of the conversation. “Is this a Richie question?”

“What? No, Jesus Christ Bill,” Eddie tilted his head and stared at the island countertop in front of him. Technically… “Actually, yeah, it is. Sorta.”

Mike leaned forward from his spot on the couch, now intrigued. Bill just looked at Eddie expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“Um, are you guys going home for Thanksgiving?”

Mike seemed perplexed by his question. “Well, I wasn’t planning on making the drive to Tennessee. Did you guys plan on going home?”

“I mean, I was going to visit my dad for a little bit but, you know how my dad is. Mom doesn’t really care about Thanksgiving.”

Bill’s parents divorced after his little brother died. His dad took it the worst and Bill really didn’t like going to see him, but he did it because his mom asked him to.

“Were… _you_ going home Eddie?” Bill asked. Eddie had tried to visit his mom on the holiday in the last couple years previous and it was always the same story: he barely made it back.

“No, no absolutely not. Um, I actually asked Richie if he- if him and his friends wanted to come over and have dinner. With us.” He put emphasis on the fact that him and Richie wouldn’t be alone.

Not that it mattered. Eddie was a big fat chicken.

“You wanna host a Friendsgiving?” Mike asked him, eyes lit up with excitement. Eddie could already see his culinary wheels turning.

Why did everyone know that word but him?

“Wait, by friends, you mean Bev and Stan, right?” Bill wondered.

“And Bev’s new boyfriend. If that’s okay?” Eddie asked.

“Of course it is. He seems like a good guy, from what she’s told me.”

“Hold on, you know Richie and his friends?” Mike asked Bill, obviously out of the loop.

“Well, he used to date his friend Bev, last year, and he met Richie and Stan through her, but I never met them before the radio show,” Eddie informed him.

Mike blinked. “Huh. Small world.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. So, like, are you guys okay with that? Having them over?”

Eddie glanced between them. They both shared a pretty neutral expression. It was a little scary.

“I’m down. Mike?”

“Only if I get to do the turkey. I don’t trust either of your white hands to season the poor thing.”

Eddie laughed. “Be my guest. I’m better at the green beans anyway.”

Bill looked down at his hands, weighing his invisible options. He knew that neither of the other boys would trust him with actual cooking.

He held up one hand. "Beer?"

Mike giggled. "Yes Bill. You can get beer. And if you behave you can put marshmallows on the sweet potatoes."

Bill looked genuinely excited at that prospect. Eddie watched Mike gaze at him with unbridled affection, which he quickly noticed and turned away, blushing.

Listen. He got it. Bill was adorable. No arguments there.

He just wondered how long it would take for either boy to speak up.

Ironic, considering his own situation.

"I'm so glad you guys agreed," said Eddie, now visibly relieved.

Mike smirked. "You already invited him, didn't you?"

Caught red handed. Shit.

" _Eddie!_ " a scandalized Bill exclaimed. Eddie tried to shrink himself down from his judgement, not bothering to hide his guilt. "What would you have done if we said no?"

To be honest, Eddie hadn't thought that far ahead.

"Uh… slashed your tires?"

The other boys stared. He was _joking_ , right?

Eddie's eyes shifted quickly. Maybe he was… _or maybe he wasn't_.

"Alright now, no tired slashing is needed. Not on my baby," said Mike, holding a hand to his chest. His "baby" was referring to his tan Ford pickup truck. A monster vehicle. More of a toddler.

"Yeah Eddie, you got us." Bill launched himself off the counter and sat by Mike's side. He slung his arm around Mike and held him close. Eddie got full view of Mike's Gay Anguish and stifled his laughter. "We'll be your wingmen!"

The color drained from Eddie's face. As much as he loved those two, he barely trusted them with not setting the apartment on fire.

"You guys don't need to, really-"

"Yeah Bill, give Eddie some credit," Mike said, pushing Bill off ever so slightly. "He's gotten this far. We gotta let baby bird here fly the nest."

Bill looked over at Eddie now with what looked like genuine tears in his eyes. "Aww, our baby bird grew up so fast."

Eddie hated whatever the fuck this was. He was _not_ a bird.

"Maybe I _should_ slash your tires-"

Mike shot up from his spot on the couch, sending Bill flying into the armrest. "On that note, I gotta go to work. Bye bye, baby bird!"

Eddie managed to smack Mike's shoulder on the way out, which satisfied him.

Then there were two.

Bill slapped his lap. "Come sit with Santa."

Eddie threw his head back and laughed a deep guffaw.

"In your dreams."

Bill smirked. "I knew that would make you laugh."

"Do I look like I need it?" he asked.

Bill nodded.

Eddie sighed and sat beside him. "I'm just so nervous, Bill. I like Richie a lot."

Bill couldn't help himself. Eddie talking about his feelings for someone for the first time really… _ever_ , made him smile.

"What? What's with that sappy ass look on your face?"

Bill chuckled. "Nothing man, I'm just proud of you. Richie sounds like he makes you happy."

Eddie found himself mirroring Bill's sappy smile. "He does." His smile quickly turned. "Which is why I can't mess this up."

Bill rubbed his shoulder in sympathetic circles.

"Relax dude, I think you'll be just fine. You and Richie are going to have a great time."

"Guys what the fuck am I supposed to do at Eddie's?" Richie wailed from his pillow.

"Eat turkey. Watch football," listed Stan, holding up fingers.

"Drink a beer, maybe argue some politics," Bev continued.

"Oh that's a good one-"

" _Shut up_. This is not helping."

Richie slammed his face back into his pillow, resigned. As much as he loved his friends, they were absolutely useless.

"We already offered to be your wingmen. I don't know what more you want from us," said Bev, while Stan nodded.

"It's kinda hard to wingman at a Friendsgiving. Also hella awkward."

For once, Richie had a point. Unless both of Eddie's roommates were in the loop, which he sincerely doubted.

"Well first, what do you plan on wearing?" Stan asked.

"...the nice Hawaiian shirt with flamingos?" Richie shrugged.

Bev sighed as Stan dragged a hand across his face.

"Absolutely _fucking_ not, Richard."

"I don't know what to tell you guys! I have a Hawaiian shirt for every season! _That's my thing_."

Bev stared at her friend. "Honey, do you not have a single dress shirt?"

Richie shrunk under her gaze. "If I do, it's probably too small," he said, turning over and poking at his slightly pouched stomach.

Stan stood up from his bed and went over to his closet and started flicking through his meticulously organized shirts. Being the opposite of Richie, he had dress shirts to spare, in multiple colors, though he had a penchant for light blues. His fingers landed on a dark green cotton dress shirt that looked basically unworn.

Stan strode back over and threw the shirt on Richie's stomach.

"Here, you animal."

Richie sat himself up and took a good look at the shirt. It was nice, and his favorite color.

"You can wear it like a jacket. With a t-shirt, maybe cuff the sleeves. Not too formal, not too casual," said Bev, pulling at the sleeve that hung over the bed.

Richie thumbed the soft material and looked up at Stan. He knew how much nice clothes meant to him. It would definitely get ruined in Richie's hands.

"Stan I can't take this. It's too nice."

The other boy rolled his eyes. "Rich, it's fine. Keep it. It's way too big on me anyway. Grandma Edna gave that to me for one of my birthdays and it's been gathering dust in my closet. You'll get more use out of it than me."

Richie didn't know how he could possibly be more grateful for his friends, but he felt his heart swelling.

"Alright. Now we need a game plan."

  
  


As Richie walked home from his short day of classes, he felt his phone buzz. And buzz. And buzz.

He pulled out his phone to see a Georgia number trying to reach him.

Odd. He didn't know anyone from Georgia.

He nearly let it go to voicemail, but something told him to answer.

"Hello?"

"Richie?" A feminine voice asked.

"Uh, speaking?"

"Hi, um, it's Patri- Patty. Patty Blum. Stan's girlfriend. Are you busy?"

Richie's asshole clenched. Why in the world would she be calling him?

"No, not right now. Is Stan okay?" he asked, because he would be a dead man later.

"Yeah he's fine, I just wanted to talk with you, if that's okay?"

If Richie wasn't so floored, his head would be spinning.

"Yeah uh, sure?"

"Do you know where Annie's is?"

Annie's House was a nice little eatery closer to downtown, that specialized in home-y, feel good foods. And every winter, a crab legs special where you got to break your legs with your own little hammer.

It wasn't a place that Richie and his friends frequented, but it was still nice and memorable.

A one stop kind of place.

Still, there he was, sitting across from Patty.

She scanned the menu, considering her options, while Richie just sat awkwardly, hands folded.

Patty finally glanced up from her menu and saw Richie just sitting there. "Are you not going to order something?"

"That depends, are you going to poison me when I'm not looking?"

Richie searched her brown eyes for any sign of contempt, and watched her sigh.

"Richie, why do you think we're here?"

His eyes fell on the table. "Murder?"

That ushered out a giggle.

"No, Richie, I'm here to make peace."

_Peace?_

"Why?" he blurted, not quite understanding.

"I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, so to speak," she explained. "Stan told me how upset you were about him keeping me a secret and I guess I just wanted to clear the air."

"I mean, Stan said that it wasn't really intentional… part of it was for my sake."

Patty nodded. "Yeah, he told me that. And obviously neither one of us wanted to jump the gun on telling anyone. You know how college relationships are."

That was something Richie was dutifully aware of, especially with working closely with other art majors. Bev's relationship with Bill was the best one he had seen since he enrolled.

"Right. And that's fair. So I'm not sure what else there is to say?"

Patty brushed her hair back behind her ear and leaned forward.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"Stan is my first boyfriend."

Ah. There it was.

"Before him I mostly dated uh… girls."

 _Oh_.

Richie raised an eyebrow. "So you-"

"Listen to _Sweater Weather_? Cuff my jeans?" She cracked a smile. "Yeah. We're more similar than you think, Richie. And I think we could be friends."

Now it made sense. Sorta.

"I mean, I guess I gotta know now. Why Stan?" he asked.

"Well. He's beautiful, first of all. Have you seen his hair? And jawline? Immaculate."

True. She had a point.

"Is… is he ashamed of us?"

Patty's eyes softened. "No. Absolutely not. He loves you, and Bev. You two were all he talked about on our first date. He holds you two so highly, so he wanted to make sure we were pretty serious before he introduced me to you. We had a lot of reasons between us to keep our relationship private. But it was never to be against you, or Bev. I just want you to understand that."

Of course Richie understood. Considering his own situation…

"I do. Definitely. I just. Don't like secrets," Richie told her.

"I get that. You seem like a pretty open, fearless person. I think that's why Stan admires you so much."

That was news to him.

"Really?"

Patty smiled. "You really didn't know?"

"I mean, I just considered myself a pain in the ass."

"Oh, you definitely are-"

Richie let out a tense chuckle. "Gee, thanks."

"But Stan loves that about you. You're never afraid to be yourself. He feels lucky to have someone like you in his life."

If Richie heard any more his eyes were going to start leaking. Again.

"So, in other words, you have a lot to live up to?" he asked, mostly joking.

"Absolutely. That's why I think we should get along," she told him.

The waiter took that moment to approach their table.

"Have you had enough time to decide or would you like me to come back?"

Patty glanced down at Richie's unopened menu and coughed. He immediately took the cue and opened it up, scanning over it quickly.

"Uh, I'll have the Snowfall Salad."

The waiter jotted his choice down and looked over at Patty expectantly.

"I'll have the Writer's Beef Stew."

"Excellent choices. I'll be back."

Once the waiter was out of earshot, they began their conversation again.

"I guess I wouldn't be opposed to that…" Richie trailed off, stirring his iced tea.

Patty took a sip of her own. "I mean, it would be kinda weird if we kissed the same guy and _weren't_ friends."

Richie felt himself choke on his own spit.

"Ehk. Ehm. Excuse me?"

"Should I repeat myself?" The smile that stretched across her face was sinister yet innocent, accompanied by a similar gleam in her eye.

Richie stared at her, his face hot with guilt. "No. No I just-"

"Didn't think Stan would say anything?" she asked, sounding pretty amused. "I don't think he wanted to, to be quite honest with you. But it doesn't upset me. I've kissed way too many of my friends to be a source of judgement."

"I'm not out here like, macking on my friends or anything," Richie rushed to say, as if it was a solid defense of character.

"Believe me, if you were then you would have already made your move on Eddie," she said, as if it were just a fact of life. Like the sky being blue.

Ouch. She knew about Eddie too? How embarrassing.

Richie leaned forward, giving straight eye contact. "Hey, Eddie is special. He deserves the world and I'm just trying my best to give him what I can. And if that takes time…" He stopped, breaking and looking down at the wooden table, searching for words in its lines.

"If that takes time, then it's well worth waiting for, because he's worth it. Every smile, every laugh, all the moments we spend together without poking and prodding to get more out of him means more to me than getting what my stupid gay brain wants."

There was something in Patty's eyes, not quite a fire but a glow of understanding that two people who have led similar lives can share.

"I think that 'stupid gay brain' of yours is a Venn diagram and you're just choosing Eddie's comfort over your own. And that's normal. People like us, that's what we do. Even when the odds are in our favor."

_People like us._

Richie found his way back to her gaze and grinned.

"You know, I think you're way out of Stan's league," he joked.

Patty flipped her hair. "So it is my burden to bear," she said dramatically, mouth stretching from ear to ear.

On that note, the food arrived, with Patty's stew steaming in front of them.

"Should we dig in?"

Richie and Patty ended up talking for another hour, and he was still in awe of just how fun she was. Of course, everyone had their faults. Hers happened to be being a band kid in high school, but that was forgivable.

Saxophone was the sexiest instrument in Richie's opinion.

So when he arrived at the studio, Eddie noticed his chipper demeanor and immediately wondered if Richie had… _met someone_.

"You're quite chipper today, Trashmouth," he noted, taking in his present smile. It wasn't a complaint… unless it was someone cuter than him that caused it.

In Richie's eyes, that could be no one.

Of course, Eddie didn't know that.

"Well, I met with Stan's girlfriend and she didn't want to kill me, so that's great!" he exclaimed, sounding pleased with that casual bit of information.

Eddie had to chuckle. "Why on earth would she want to kill you, Richie?"

"Well, for starters, I was a bit of a bitch to her in the hospital," he said, counting down on his fingers. "Then Stan kissed me in an act of friendship-"

If anyone could hear the resounding drop of Eddie's heart, it would have sounded like a lone basketball hitting a linoleum floor.

"Stan _kissed_ you?" he asked, doing his best to not let the hurt seep into his voice.

It hit Richie like a backhanded tree branch. Why would he just _say it_ like that???

"That… that makes us both look terrible oh god. Okay, I'll explain."

Eddie sat back in his chair, arms folded.

A sigh left Richie's lips. He hated damage control.

"So, after Stan got back from the hospital, I was giving him pretty harsh silent treatment,” he started off. “He basically begged me to listen to his reason for keeping Patty a secret, so I did.”

“And?” Eddie tried hard not to snap at him. After all, did he really have anything to be angry about?

Richie looked forlornly at the glass in front of them, staring out into the hallway. “He told me he didn’t want to single me out.”

_Single him out? How?_

Eddie didn’t really understand. How would Stan dating someone be-?

Oh.

_“But… I can’t help but be a little jealous. I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”_

Richie’s words echoed in the back of his mind.

Both of his friends were in happy, fulfilling relationships.

So that left him-

“He knows that I’ll always support them, and be happy for them. But now I’m the only one that’s never dated, never had their first kiss. The closest thing I got was giving Stan mouth to mouth,” Richie chuckled, bitterly.

“So then why did Stan kiss you?” Eddie asked.

“Guilt, maybe? It was super fast and very awkward. I love Stan the Man, but he’s not the man for me.”

_“Full offense. But I wish you had been Eddie instead.”_

Eddie sat silently, taking this all in.

 _So that motherfucker stole my first kiss_ , was his first thought. A selfish one, that he mentally recoiled from, but regardless. He would have to get on Stan about that one later.

When he eventually stopped being such a chicken shit.

"So Patty isn't mad that her boyfriend kissed you?" 

Richie chuckled. "No. Not at all. We have an understanding."

Eddie was so very confused.

His confusion was pretty obvious, so Richie elaborated.

"She listens to _Sweater Weather_."

Okay, now he was speaking in riddles.

"Richie, what the hell does that mean?" Eddie wondered, flabbergasted.

"She's bi, Eddie."

Oh. Holy shit.

"So... what, you guys bonded over that?" Sometimes Eddie really wished he knew how Richie's brain worked.

"Basically. She's pretty cool. I'm glad Stan found her."

Eddie watched a fond smile stretch across Richie's face. He really was happy for them.

So why couldn't he just man up so Richie could be happy, too?

"That's awesome. Go Stan," said Eddie, holding up his fist, not letting the weight on his chest affect him.

Richie raised his eyebrow slightly. There was something off about Eddie, but he didn't want to push it.

After all, he just convinced him that he wasn't a homewrecker.

The music faded out, and it was Richie's time to speak.

He turned to his mic, not completely unaware of Eddie's awkward turn to his computer.

"Hey night owls. Tonight I just wanted to take a second to highlight the power of friendship. Now you're probably like, _Trashmouth, why are you being all soft_? Well, sometimes you have friends that need more than just the normal amount of appreciation. I don't talk about my friends much, but there isn't a lot that I wouldn't for them. We've gotten each other through tough times, and we’ve been there for each other more times than I could count on my skinny fingers,” Richie paused, really thinking about what he wanted to say. “I never thought I would have friends. Growing up, I was a bit of a loser.”

Eddie watched him now. Richie could feel his gaze focused on him like a laser.

“But now, I have even more friends." He thought of Ben and now Patty... and Eddie, even though Eddie was a different case all together. "I still haven’t decided if that makes them losers or if that makes me a cool guy,” he wondered out loud, almost forgetting his audience.

“But what I do know is that I love them. And if you got friends, love them too. Love them with all you have. Because one day, they’ll just be some memory. And you’ll be a memory. So while you still can, give yourselves something to remember. Love your goddamn friends.”

Richie looked over at Eddie, who was still staring and hadn’t picked a song yet.

“Spaghetti, will you play us a song?”

As close as Richie was, his voice sounded a million miles away.

Eddie nodded silently, and out of his own curiosity pulled up _Sweater Weather._

“We’re going to play some hits, but I’ll be back night owls. Stay groovy.”

Eddie pressed play, and the sound of drums filled the studio.

The mic was off, so that left Eddie free to speak.

“Richie? Are you okay?”

“Okay” was a subjective state of mind. Physically, Richie was fine. Fit as a fiddle.

But emotionally?

_Touch my neck and I'll touch yours. You in those little high waisted shorts._

“What?” Richie broke from his mental stupor and swiveled away, hoping that Eddie couldn’t see the tears now welling up in his eyes.

Eddie couldn’t be fooled. He knew what crying looked like.

_'Cause it's too cold for you here. And now, so let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater._

Eddie pulled up close to Richie, his hands falling into the other boy's lap, inches away from his hands.

"Richie. Look at me."

The rubber band-like way his neck was pulled away tautly to avoid looking anywhere but Eddie’s solemn face. He didn’t want to be sad in front of the smaller boy but it just… spilled out, like milk left on the stove.

“Rich. Please?”

He was always the strong one. The sarcastic asshole.

Eddie inched his fingers until he had them intertwined with the taller boy’s warm, slender ones. It was an awkward gesture, because they didn’t quite fit right with Richie’s hand facing downwards.

The rubber band broke.

_And if I may just take your breath away. I don't mind if there's not much to say._

Richie ignored the fact that his hands were now slightly wet.

Dark clouds met a mountainside.

“We love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](mr-grinch-penis.tumblr.com) I'll answer questions and post updates :)

**Author's Note:**

> you guys can contact me here: mr-mustache-penis.tumblr.com
> 
> if you guys have any questions or concerns or anything! <3


End file.
